


Hungry Hobbits

by NightcoreFan



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Bilbo, Brutal Death of characters that kinda deserved it, But seriously it gets kinda graphic and gory, Cannibalism?, Gen, Hobbit Culture & Customs, Hungry Hobbits, I kinda go over the top at times, You dont want a hungry hobbit, seriously, so watch out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-17 23:32:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7290556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightcoreFan/pseuds/NightcoreFan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins has a secret. It’s a secret that all hobbits hold close to their chest, and would never speak of it in polite company. It’s a secret made present through the mandatory seven meals all hobbits must have.<br/>He’s hungry. So hungry, thanks to the small rations the Dwarves were serving out, that even that pale orc is looking particularly tasty. Well, it’s not like he hadn’t eaten one before but it’s just not respectable to do such a thing in front of company.<br/>But a small taste couldn’t hurt anyone, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Starving Hobbit

**Author's Note:**

> I'm leaving this as a one shot, but I hope you enjoy it and any Kudos and comments would be wonderful!

It was very rare when someone got curious about how the Shire had yet to be taken over. It would normally be a highly targeted area as the weather is normally pleasant, the land was extra ordinarily fertile, and the inhabitants peaceful folk who wouldn’t know what a sword looked like never mind be proficient at using one. So it would normally be easy pickings for any kingdom in need or want of more farm land and such.

Then why does the thought of leading an attack on the Hobbits never cross the minds of kings?

It is a very curious subject, until you dig ever so slightly deeper, as it would seem that the Shire was indeed protected by non-other than the human Rangers and Elves of Rivendell. And so they should, the Hobbits always had a surplus of produce that they happily traded for around the clock protection which made keeping food on the table so much easier as many preferred not to attack the land.

This would be when everyone would stop digging, satisfied with the answer they have discovered and never even considered the possibility of something more going on than they had first expected.

It was not commonly known that the Hobbits were created by Yavanna for the purpose of purifying the land of any evil through the tending of the earth and plant life. However, there was a small problem with having such peaceful creatures going against the likes of aggressive and violent orcs that would wipe them out with little effort and much pleasure.

But of course the great Green Lady had already anticipated such trials for her children and set an odd sort of quirk in their biology, a quirk that allowed the Hobbits to fight on equal terms and allowed them to thrive at the same time.

It was what the Hobbits now call the Hunger. The state they can tap into in which they lose all sense of respectability in order to fill their stomach with something, and in most cases it was their enemies.

This is what stopped any try to take their land in the days past, and the subconscious fear of such frightful creatures was kept in every sentient being on Middle Earth.

Never get between a Hobbit and its food else you become the food.

This was why Bilbo was sure Gandalf was trying to kill them all. Why else would he bring him on such a long adventure with such little supplies? Honestly, he would have expected that his mother had at least stressed how much food a hobbit needed to the wizard. But whenever Bilbo gave said wizard a meaningful glare, it was always received with a confused look, as though Gandalf wasn’t aware that he had a hungry hobbit on his hands.

It didn’t help that the Dwarves gave him smaller rations than the others, which furthered the deep hollow ache that had started to build.

What idiot came up with the idea that a smaller body meant they needed smaller portions? Because he would very much like to give them a stern tongue lashing that would make his grandmother proud.

To make it even worse, his stomach decided that the best course of action would be to complain. Very loudly complain, to the point that, on occasion, it rivalled Bomber’s snores. This of course made the company laugh nastily and gave them even more to mock him with; or in Thorin’s case, more to demean him with.

He had started out alright. The hunger but a small uncomfortable feeling that could be easily ignored, this pulled Bilbo into a sense of security thinking that his body would be able to happily continue on three meals a day.

But, of course, with every day that passed the more the uncomfortable feeling grew to the point where it was no longer just nuisance. It grew and grew until Bilbo could barely tolerate the deep empty ache in his gut and could only just keep the tears and moans of pain from leaking out.

During the day he found himself extremely weaker than normal from the nasty combination of lack of food and excruciating pain continuously plaguing his body. He could barely focus on the pony he was on, never mind the words of the Dwarves around him and his body became much more sensitive to the change in temperature and the rough terrain the pony needed to navigate.

The nights were so much worse though. He had nothing to distract himself from the gnawing sharp pains of his stomach and body demanding food. It kept him up through the night and when he did finally manage to reach unconsciousness it woke him up once again with a sharp stab through his stomach to his heart that left him gasping for breath or, in the worse cases, his throat closing to block all attempts of breathing.

There were a few chances during the journey that Bilbo was able to excuse himself.  He went deep into the trees and, after making sure no one had followed, let the tears fall and screamed silently as the pain continued to rack his body.

The whole debacle with the trolls was caused by a moment of paralysing pain. It was the first time it had become that devastatingly agonising enough to lock his body to the point that he couldn’t even make a noise, but it certainly wasn’t the last. It was that pained pause that gave the troll the opportunity to grab him, not only trying to grab the knife, but also when he was trying to run away.

The dwarves were not happy about that.

It was a miracle and a blessing combined with a little bit of luck thrown in there that he was able to think clearly enough to play for time until Gandalf finally arrived. And if he let himself fantasize about eating the dwarves, well, no one had to know.

“May the dawn take you all!” His voice boomed. Unfortunately Bilbo succumbed to his crippling pain before he could witness the old man break the bolder in half.

It was sad that that was the best sleep the hobbit had had in weeks. To Bilbo, being dead to the world was the greatest he had felt in what seemed like months.

The waking up part wasn’t as wonderful.

The pain was the most prominent part. It never rested, not even for a second for him to clear his mind.

“He’s becoming a liability! He’s fainting left and right like a weak hearted mouse, and he can’t even defend himself!” The voice, which sounded suspiciously like Thorin, yelled. Supposedly at Gandalf Bilbo assumed.

“And who was it that stalled for time so that I could recue you all?” The old wizard spoke smugly.

“He was the one who got captured in the first place!” Thorin screamed.

“It was better me than any of the young ones.” Bilbo spoke aloud, hopefully not sounding as defeated as he thought.

“What?” Thorin growled under his breath. Bilbo turned his head to look at the disgruntled company.

“It was better I was captured than Fili, Kili or Ori, correct? Or perhaps their lives are worth even less than mine.”

Before he was given a response Bilbo once again went into the darkness with the swiftness of someone blowing out a candle.

When he later awoke for good, no one brought up the events of the night before but there were a few strange looks directed at him. Not that he saw. After missing another two meals thanks to the trolls, Bilbo was having a hard time deciding whether or not ending his suffering with his new blade was worth it.

He decided it was and reached for his blade but was stopped by the familiar howl of a warg. Bilbo looked at the direction it came from with hope. He might not have had the energy to kill three trolls whilst protecting the incapacitated dwarves, but a warg and/or orc was just what the doctor ordered as the dwarves were now armed.

But once again, the dwarves wanted him to continue feeling like his insides were devouring themselves and dragged him away to let the new wizard to distract the enemy.

He was not happy in the slightest and the blade was looking very attractive once again. But with the knowledge that they were heading to Rivendell a spark of hope appeared in his heart. The elves were sure to know of his nature and feed him accordingly. After all, no one wants to get eaten.

Bilbo stared at the leafy greens in sadness. There was no raw meat, which meant the elves didn’t know. Bilbo was alone with his hunger slowly killing him and the fact that no one would know he was dying until he truly did drop dead.

But it was when Bilbo was staring into the fire that he had an epiphany. Dragons were enormously large, there was a dragon at the end of this adventure, surely a dragon would sate his hunger, and it would be helping the dwarves too.

Bilbo felt he was truly onto something but was thrown out of the thought when a strong wave of pain rushed through his body and caused him to fall off the stool. No one stood to help him; they barely glanced in his direction. Though that could be blamed on the fact that Bofur was causing a scene in the dining room.

That didn’t stop Bilbo from thinking about eating them. But he knew he couldn’t. They were all on an important quest and weren’t considered evil so their flesh would taste like a big old pile of guilt and depression. It would also lead to his demise.

One of his ancestors had gone Hungry once and ate his Man friends and died a horrible death, which was how all hobbits knew not to eat someone who didn’t deserve it. It was just good manners after all.

The hunger continued to build and build as they travelled across the stormy mountains and he made his way out of the deep and cold caverns.

Truth is told, Bilbo could barely remember those days. His hunger had finally robbed his mind and left him stumbling around and following orders like a puppet.

But he had a vague recollection of something screaming “Precious!” and some crunching of bones, but the strangest thing was that Bilbo was sure he swallowed something round, almost like a ring. But there couldn’t be any rings down there, right?

Bilbo was very surprised when his mind snapped back to him with a big pulse of pain from his stomach and a scream coming from Dwalin. Bilbo really felt like whooping in joy but equally wanted to strangle that bloody prince.

He was far too injured to take on something like that white orc. Yet, Bilbo sure wasn’t.

Before he truly thought about it, his body rushed with a sudden strength that Bilbo easily recognised as Hunger. Bilbo was starved and no orc was going to get away, not on his watch.

Bilbo pushed himself off the tree trunk (how did he get there?) and ran to the battling foes almost impossibly fast. He was sure he looked quite frightening charging at the dark forces with a hungry smile, and Bilbo wondered if the soreness of his throat was from a battle cry or just because he needed some blood down it.

Judging by the looks of all those around him it was the former.

Bilbo quickly vaulted over the fallen body of Thorin without giving him much more than a glance and, faster than anyone could see, had his jaws around the leading orcs throat.

Without even so much as a pang of regret, Bilbo slammed his jaw closed and ripped half of the neck off the pale body. The scream that gurgled out of the mutilated throat made everyone in the clearing wince but Bilbo heard it more as a cry of a job well done. The blood that rushed into his body was so delicious that Bilbo moaned in ecstasy, the flesh perfectly fresh and flowed into his gullet with a perfect after taste that left Bilbo wanting more.

Unable to stop his urges in the trance, Bilbo used his hands to dig into the chest of his kill and ripped the muscle and bone from the precious organs that was held within. He yanked out a lung, spraying more blood onto his soaked body and ripped off a chunk with his teeth and revelled in the spongy texture.

Before he could take another bite, he was interrupted by a white warg jumping towards Bilbo’s unprotected back. But before the warg could get any closer Bilbo turned and raised his fist, he brought said fist down onto the top of the poor creatures head and crushed it’s skull on the floor. Blood and brain matter creating a splat pattern that included the hobbit.

Satisfied he wasn’t going to be interrupted, Bilbo turned to the rest of the enemy that had yet to run away like their companions. He gave a feral smile and sprinted towards them. He aimed for their throats, hearts and head to kill quickly so that he could eat as soon as possible.

He was knocked out of his state when Gandalf called out his name as Bilbo was munching on a heart of one of the wargs. It was soft and squishy which made it so much easier to just bite a chuck and swallow it without chewing. The faster his stomach was filled, the better.

“Bilbo, my boy?” The old voice spoke again. Bilbo looked up to see the shocked and scared faces of his company. Bilbo sighed in defeat. This was exactly what he had been trying to avoid. Scaring your friends wasn’t really the way to go with these things.

“Terribly sorry Gandalf,” Bilbo stared after he swallowed another kidney. “It’s not terribly respectable to eat in front of company, but you’ll have to forgive me. I have been so hungry for so long, I wonder if this will truly be enough?”

The others could only stare at Bilbo as he stuffed his face with their long-time foes and wince as the small hobbit crunched the bones like they were twigs. With morbid fascination, they watched him finish off all that was left of the perusing orcs and let out a satisfying burb and sigh.

Bilbo looked to the Dwarrows he had come to befriend with understanding and slowly stood up, hoping to prove that he had no intention of harming them. With a large stretch to release the tension in his back, Bilbo gave a meaningful look to the shocked wizard.

“I think this conversation would best be done after I’ve cleaned myself up.”

After visiting a freezing cold river to wash away all traces of his previous meal and tend to the wounds caused by the frantic orcs, (it was near impossible to not gain any injuries from creatures such as they and Bilbo was just happy they hadn’t hit anything truly important) he steeled himself for the confrontation he was sure to get from the Dwarrows.


	2. Battle Masks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo does a bit of explaining about Hobbits and their culture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to popular demand(ish) and an influx of creative ideas, I have decided to continue Hungry Hobbits until the end. So I hope you enjoy the rest of Hungry Hobbits and your support will always be welcome.  
> Comments and Kudos will be accepted with wide open arms. (I seriously love them)

Bilbo sighed at the subtlety of the Dwarrows, or rather, lack thereof. They had him sit on the other side of the camp, as far away as they could get him whilst also being close enough to yell insults or (dare he hope?) to hear his explanation.

Even Gandalf was keeping his distance which really stung. He knew many hobbits before Bilbo, the wizard had even been close friends with his mother, and this was how he was treating him?

“First things first,” Thorin spoke loudly over the distance, “What are you? Are you truly our Burglar?”

It took a second to process what the leader had just said. Bilbo was expecting more along the lines of “when were you planning on eating us?” or some other such question. Not whether if he was who he said he was.

“As you well know, my name is Bilbo Baggins and I am very much a hobbit.”

“What proof do you have, that you are indeed Bilbo Baggins?” Dwalin warned gruffly by raising his axe as Bilbo tried to take a step closer.

Bilbo sighed in frustration. Curse the stubbornness of Dwarrows!

“When I first met Thorin Oakenshield he commented that I looked like more of a grocer than a burglar.” Not one to miss an opportunity, Bilbo jumped into his explanation at the slightest hint of the Dwarrow relaxing. “Now you need to all understand that I haven’t harmed you during our journey and I have no intention of doing so in the future. I think you will find that I am not too keen on committing suicide.”

“What are you saying?” Kili called. His brows furrowed in confusion, but Bilbo was pleased to see that there wasn’t a trace fear in his features.

The chance of being accepted back into the company suddenly grew and Bilbo honesty felt like singing right there and then.

“I already consider you all close friends which should be enough to prove that I wouldn’t even attempt to attack you, but there is also an added bonus that hobbits can only eat tainted beings, or animals. Anything else would lead to an extremely unpleasant death. So unless one of you is secretly an orc, you have nothing to fear.”

The silence rung through the area and even the animals seemed to quiet in anticipation for the conclusion the Dwarrow would come to. Bilbo felt his heart quicken and started dreading the worst. None of them had thought very highly at the beginning of the quest, now Bilbo wasn’t sure if those feelings would come to the forefront and convince them that Bilbo wasn’t to be trusted.

If that did happen, well, Bilbo wasn’t sure how he’d react.

Bilbo was cut from his musings when he found Fili and Kili on either side of him, their arms over his shoulder and grins plastered on their faces.

“What did that white orc taste like?!” Fili began.

“Foul I’d assume.” Kili finished.

And with those simple words, Bilbo knew that this would turn out much better than he feared. He failed to keep the wide grin off his face and ended up looking at the ground with a face as red as his prized tomatoes.

“Probably tasted of rotten greens,” Bofur added as he also joined Bilbo. Making Bilbo grin just that bit more.

“He tasted much like the rest of them. Orcs tend not to have much variety when it comes to taste.” Bilbo couldn’t help but add in hesitantly, eyeing the rest of the company who still looked unsure.

A pang ran through his heart and the smile started to slip. Bilbo had suffered through so much to get to where he was; he kept to the miniscule meals they handed off to him, put up with the derogative comments and allowed his body to starve.

Bilbo felt cheated. He had done everything to gain their trust and yet here they were, trying to decide if it was really worth trusting him once again.

With a strange surge of righteous anger, Bilbo straightened his back to stand tall and glared directly at Thorin. The Dwarrow in question glared back with equal ferocity, but Bilbo could see a glint of uncertainty in the King’s eye.

“I think you will find that I have had plenty of chances to attack any of you, whether alone or in a moment of vulnerability, and yet here you all are, perfectly safe from me even after starving me to the point of near insanity!”

Bilbo was sure he’d be laughing over the expressions before him at a later date, but right now Bilbo had had enough of dealing with stubborn Dwarrow! And they called him fussy and set in his ways!

Moments of silence passed, the only disturbance was that of the animals deep within the trees, and Thorin staring at the hobbit with a stern eye.

“Did I not say you would be a burden?!” He suddenly called out, his boots crunching the fallen leaves with steady, heavy thuds. “That you do not belong?!”

The five Dwarrows (when did Bifur and Ori get there?) around Bilbo jumped between the trembling hobbit and the approaching leader, only to be pulled away by the remaining Company that had followed Thorin.

Said Dwarrow stopped barely an arms-length from Bilbo and glared down at the wide eyed Hobbit who looked like he was ready to bolt like a rabbit being chased by a wolf. Bilbo pulled his arms close to his body and closed his eyes tight, resigning to his fate.

Only to have them fly back open at the foreign feeling of a large body surrounding his own. His mind was close to going out as he tried to understand what was happening.

Thorin was hugging him? Not killing him?

He wasn’t going to kill him?!

Bilbo wasn’t going to die!

“I have never been so wrong in my life.” Thorin announced next to Bilbo’s ear.

Said hobbit couldn’t help the tears that fell down his face as he was brimming with joy at the accepting faces of all those around him. For the first time in a long time, Bilbo felt like he had a family again.

“Thank you.” Bilbo whispered back into Thorin’s ear and was given a chuckle in return.

“What would we do without our Burglar?”

“See, my boy,” Bilbo turned to look at Gandalf, who gave an age old smile, “I told you, you would come to enjoy the company of Dwarves.”

The Company of Thorin Oakenshield quickly calmed soon after and allowed themselves time to relax and recuperate. Oin checked them all over for any serious injury and treated the ones that were slightly worse than a few scratches. Bilbo felt suitably embarrassed as the old healer tutted away at all the deep cuts and nasty bruises he had managed to gain over the past few days.

The worst part, however, would be when Oin noticed how thin his body was, with the exception of a plump stomach full of tainted flesh. This caused another round of loud exclamations from the rest and many bowls sacrificed to him in hopes to fatten him up once again. Bilbo was reasonably frustrated when the Dwarrow didn’t listen to his comment that the meal he had before was plenty to fill his stomach with.

Bother and confuscate the stubbornness of Dwarves indeed.

However, despite the mothering from all sides and the overfeeding, Bilbo had to admit that it was probably one of the best times the Hobbit had had in a very long time (since before his parents’ death, for sure)  and he managed to have the most peaceful sleep with a full belly for once.

Then, of course, came Beorn with his large body and even larger second form. It scared the company witless (honestly, how do you forget to open a latched door?) Bilbo included, which scared the Dwarrow even more.

It was one thing to be the eater, but to be in the face of becoming eaten was a very frightening experience. If Bilbo hadn’t understood that the creatures he was able to eat deserved it and so much more, then he may feel sorry for the orcs who had to greet death through the teeth of a Hobbit.

Death by giant shape shifting bear may be a more dignified way to go though.

Bilbo soon found, however, that the man behind the beast was much more agreeable and the two were fast on their way to creating a magnificent friendship built on their mutual love of eating orcs. Bilbo was sure he saw a few Dwarrow go green during a particularly in depth discussion of the subject over a lovely meal of stew.

The fact that Beorn also had a thriving garden and beautiful surroundings only endeared Bilbo to him even more as the beast obviously had a giving heart and truly cared for those under his care; both the plant life and the animals.

It was almost enough to overlook the giant’s bad habit of picking him up and petting him like the “little bunny” Beorn likened him too. How did he resemble a rabbit in anyway? No respectable Hobbit would enjoy the strange endearments Beorn did to get Bilbo to like him. Not that Bilbo was entirely respectable anymore, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have his pride of being a fully grown adult.

Being picked up like a fauntling was more than humiliating, left him getting flustered and caused him to raise his voice to politely ‘ask’ him to let him down (If by ask he meant demanded with a wobble in his voice that stopped anyone from taking him seriously).

The greatest part of the whole experience would be the hunts that Beorn took Bilbo on. Both grew to respect the other fiercely, though Bilbo knew his loyalty lay with the Dwarrow, no matter how jealous the hairy people were that Bilbo’s time was being taken.

As much as Bilbo was enjoying the simplicity of it all, he knew that it was only a matter of time before one of the company wanted to know more about Hobbits and their culture, though he was surprised that the first question wasn’t from the curious scribe Ori, but rather his oldest brother Dori.

“Bilbo, if you are unable to eat untainted flesh, how have you Hobbits kept the Shire safe for so long?” He asked as the company (plus Beorn) was relaxing after a good and hearty meal.

The question gained the attention of the rest and Bilbo could feel their expectant stares as he stared down into his hands trying to think of how to answer. He rolled his eyes at himself; the Dwarrow would prefer a frank answer rather than a well worded one. Honestly, what was he getting in a tizzy for?

“Most races think it’s the elves of Rivendell and the Rangers from the North that keep us protected, and it has been true for the past few hundred years. We Hobbits don’t live as long as some of the races in Middle Earth, but we do have our history taught to us from a very young age.”

Bilbo looked up to see everyone in the room engaged in the story. They must have been more curious than he had given them credit for. It surely had strained them to wait so long for detailed answers.

“There have been many who have tried to take either us or our land. Even before we settled in the Shire, but we have very few records from the Wandering days so I can’t tell you much about back then. We preferred to keep our weakness a secret, and it soon came to the point that even our ‘ability’ became an unintentional secret but I digress. We didn’t want to lose ourselves into the Hunger and devour the attacking race as the consequences were (and still are) severe. The most detailed documentation summarised it as very slowly burning from the inside out. Not something any Hobbit wants to experience, so we developed a way to fight back with less of a chance of dying.”

Bilbo reached into his pack and dug to the bottom of it all to pull out his battle mask. It was slightly dishevelled thanks to the weight of the contents of the pack, but to the Dwarrow it still looked haunting.

It looked to only be a half mask, to cover the lower part of the face from the nose down, but they couldn’t be sure as there were so many straps coming off the piece that didn’t really seem to have much of a purpose. Yet it was enough to cause shivers up their spines.

It looked to be the colour of dried blood only to clash with the bright, shiny bolts of steel that kept the many spikey layers tightly connected. There were no gaps, no imperfections in the leather or metal workings and looked to be almost brand new if not for the few scratches that littered the section that would normally cover the mouth. (<https://img0.etsystatic.com/000/0/6045241/il_fullxfull.270408198.jpg>)

If the Dwarrow didn’t know any better, they could have sworn that the mask was made from dragon hide.

“This is what we use in battles involved with untainted races. We call them battle masks as a way to convince others that it’s just for intimidation purposes, but we use it as more of a mussel. It’s mighty uncomfortable and in some cases painful as we can’t open our jaws, but it’s a small price to pay for not dying horribly.”

Bilbo fastened the mask to his head with practiced speed and ease to show how the mask fit before taking it off just as quickly. He moved his jaw around to ease the uncomfortable feeling of remembered stiffness.

“May I?” Thorin asked as he held a hand out.

With a short nod, Bilbo placed the deceptively heavy mask in the King’s waiting hand. Said king looked over the craftsmanship with a curious yet critical eye and ran his hand over the material.

“How do you keep yourself from taking it off during battle?” Thorin questioned.

“The Hunger state relies mostly on instinct and only partially on conscious thought, killing tends to be more of a primal action whilst unstrapping a mask would be a conscious decision. All it takes is to not want to take it off and we won’t. However, if we do not have our masks, we cannot stop ourselves from biting into the enemy on the battlefield as it is all instinct.”

Bilbo finished with a low voice and watched as the company tried to digest the bulk of information he had given all at once. But there was a queer sense of contentment in his chest. It was nice to talk of his race and how he lived to teach others.

“Are these made for each Hobbit at a certain age?” Ori asked as he turned Bilbo’s battle mask over. The Dwarrows seemed to have passed it around whilst he wasn’t looking and each had a good look.

“Sometimes, some Hobbits prefer their own, brand new mask, as they usually fit better and can mould to your face easier. That one, however, has been passed down in my mother’s family for generations. Adjusted for each descendant of course, but I doubt there are many masks left that have seen as much battle as that one.”

The Dwarrow all looked at the mask with a newfound respect.


	3. What?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really enjoying this fic and I hope you guys are too!  
> Any Kudos and Comments would be really appreciated if you could!
> 
> *Extra*  
> Thanks to Wolkenpfote09, I was able to adjust some details about spider anatomy and make it more realistic. So I hope you enjoy it!

The departure from Beorn’s was a strangely calm affair. Sure, a few looked back at the quaint home with a sad eye, but they were all ready to continue with their quest and looked forward with determination.

It wasn’t until he noticed the two prince’s snickering to each other that Bilbo realised they may end up with an enraged bear chasing after them at some point. Bilbo was glad to notice that he wasn’t the only one to glance warily at the mischievous duo and with a silent look to each other they encouraged the ponies to speed up.

Should the boys somehow ended up with some very bity bugs in their bed rolls?

Well, let’s just say Bilbo was greatly improving his newfound skill in revenge pranks. The shrieks and itching were so worth every moment of sleeping on the rocks that just ‘happened’ to appear under his matt the nights after.

Bilbo would like to say his relationship with each member of the company was greatly improving as the journey continued. They spoke more, laughed together, and even helped Bilbo whenever they noticed him struggling. And of course he reciprocated the favours; clothes during a quest really did manage to gain quite an array of wears and tears.

He was fairly sure there were tears in Balin’s when he stitched up a gaping hole in the dwarf’s poor sleep sack.

It was thanks to the increased friendliness of the Dwarrow that boosted Bilbo’s confidence to the point where he was unafraid of speaking his mind whenever he wished. Some of the things that he let slip would surely make his family back home come close to disowning him, not that Lobelia would need such an incentive.

He and Bofur had always been fairly close and now they were getting on swimmingly. They would chat for hours on the road and shared some of the last of Bilbo’s Old Toby when gazing at the lowering sun.

Bifur was a harder dwarf to get to know. Not because of either of their personalities, but because of the language barrier that divided them. It did not help that Bilbo was forbidden from learning the language, nor the signing that they did for simply not being a dwarf. But after the elder dwarf stood against Thorin for him, Bilbo did his very best to get past all the blockades and the two began to converse through mimes and facial expressions alone.

Bombur was an easy fellow to get along with, their shared passion for food sped up most of the process and they were left as the cooking team for every meal. (“No Fili, there is no orc meat in there. Nor, are there any Warg eyes, Kili. Just eat the stew already!”)

Dwalin simply wanted to know more about Hobbit battle tactics and Bilbo was happy to teach him about his culture. No much more to be said.

Kili and Fili were a package deal, but you have to understand that they were their own persons at the same time, which made it a great deal harder to befriend them both at the same time. But somehow, through the art of pranking and joking, Bilbo managed to gain the trust and respect of the two younger Dwarrow.

The ‘Ri family involved a tale of his younger days, stealing pies from windows and later leaving bouquet of flowers in its place to endear all three. Nori took him on as an apprentice (much to Dori’s ire), Dori loved hearing about how hobbit families worked and Ori enjoyed having another book lover in the group.

Balin started to talk to Bilbo about his job as an advisor and the troubles that came with it, only to find that Bilbo had a sensible head on his shoulders. Their debates became so in depth that the rest of the company didn’t dare disturb them in fear of being lectured to death.

Gloin was a father who loved to talk about his son and Bilbo was always willing to listen and add a few anecdotes about his younger cousins and far family. Safe to say they were all surprised to find just how big Hobbit families could get.

Oin and he had a rough understanding that Oin was the head healer and Bilbo was to use his knowledge of plants to take his place if anything happened.

However the most baffling thing was his sudden closeness to Thorin, or more Thorin’s closeness to him. Bilbo was no fool; that was for sure. He may be half Took but he leaned towards the Baggins side when it came to using his head. Bilbo knew that Thorin had a new found respect in Bilbo’s strength and loyalty, yet such a drastic change made Bilbo feel unnecessarily cautious.

He would look questioningly at the dwarf when Thorin stuck a conversation and tried to answer in kind, but he could not shake the feeling that something was wrong.

“There’s no need to be so wary.” Dwalin told him out of the blue.

“I’m sorry?” Bilbo asked as he looked up from his position as night watch the rest of the group fast asleep.

“Thorin was cruel because he didn’t want to get close to you and then watch you die. But now you have proven that you can defend yourself and that there is little chance of you dying, he’s allowing himself to like you.”

With that said the burly dwarf pushed Bilbo to bed and took over the watch. Not letting Bilbo get a word in. Dwarf of few words, Bilbo thought.

He was content with the way the company slowly became more of a family to him, but he wondered if they truly had come to terms with his eating habits.

He got his answer when they all looked rather disgruntled as he tore off another spider leg to munch on.

The fight had been a hard one. Not only did Bilbo have to keep the Dwarrow safe from the creepy crawlers, but he also had to dodge every spider bite that came his way. One drop of venom in his blood stream would incapacitate the hobbit and end up with them all dead.

He jumped and twirled and made sure to tear as much as he could from each spider in hopes that they would die of blood loss or something similar as he fought off the other few hundred tainted spiders that moved even faster than he. Not that it was easy, the skin (was it even skin?) was incredibly hard and it took a few hits to even crack the shell like surface.

The spider webs restricted much movement, but Bilbo’s hunger won out over the sensible side that told him to jump on the clean trees. The power that rushed through his body wanted one thing, and that was the yellowish blood that fell down his throat. In the back of his mind he found it strange that the spider’s blood was so much different from any he had tasted before.

He ripped off the legs and heads with a perverted sense of glee at the sound of the shell shattering, the segments popping and tearing along with the musical sound of the spiders screams.

Many escaped, but the few stupid enough to continue to fight stood no chance against a Hungry Hobbit.

It was a hard won battle, and Bilbo felt it well within his rights to eat his kill. The deep grazes and cuts along with the large bruises and cracked bones (and a few broken ribs) from when he fell from the height of the trees were a bother and Bilbo needed the energy to heal them all.

But the looks of disgust would be enough to discourage anyone from their meal and fill them with shame for thinking of eating it to begin with. Bilbo looked down at his blood stained hands in regret and for the first time felt despair over being a Hobbit.

The shire questioned his strangeness and shunned him for the dreams of leaving their safe haven. Now he knew even the outside world would not accept him all due to his species diet.

Bilbo was forced from his moping by a sudden whack to the head by… a spider leg? Bilbo looked further along the leg to see a neutral Thorin. He held the leg out, obviously intending for Bilbo to take it from him.

“You need to eat. We Dwarrow are made of sterner stuff and will soon find the sight as normal as we find Bifur’s axe.”

Bilbo stared at the leader in shock, although he slowly took the leg as his manners wouldn’t have let him do anything less. Once the appendage was in his lap Bilbo finally managed to shake himself from the peculiarity of the whole situation and simply took it as what it was. The Dwarrow were trying and Bilbo could not fault that.

“As much as the gesture is appreciated, the legs aren’t especially tasty nor are they as juicy as they look. They’re too crunchy. If you want to truly impress me, try giving me an eye. Or if you’re feeling brave, a heart will really improve my mood.” Bilbo chuckled quietly.

The king turned a faint shade of white, but nodded all the same and left Bilbo to his meal in favour of gathering his company’s wit.

Bilbo should have realised in that moment that, judging by the way the day was turning out so far, there was going to be more trouble. And it was just their luck that it turned out to be elves, with large arrows and larger swords, and a great dollop of suspicion in each of them.

Bilbo was sure the suspicion came from the fact that the Company was almost entirely of Dwarrow and the only non-Dwarrow was a blood covered creature who they probably never heard of before, never mind seen one of his kind.

They were quickly and unceremoniously stripped of all their weapons and packs and were forced to march through the Mirkwood without such a hint as where they were going, but they could all accurately guess and were not pleased in the slightest.

Bilbo was just glad he let Dwalin talk him into keeping his mask on his person at all times.

Truth be told, the walk there was incredibly boring. The elves wouldn’t talk and wouldn’t let their captives so much make a sound, which left them walking in tense silence.

It was the talk with the King of Mirkwood that really sparked the stubbornness and fight in the Dwarrow. He was an arrogant king, not even attempting to be sympathetic to a group trying to simply make their way through the sick woods.

King Thranduil had figured out their plan before any of them truly spoke due to the fact that Thorin was part of the company. However, Bilbo wasn’t really concentrating on what was being discussed (more like yelled) as he was doing his very best to blend in and hide behind one of the larger Dwarrow in an attempt to not be brought into the centre of attention.

It was bad enough he was another species, but he was also covered in the guts and gore of the giant spiders that were by all rights too large for him to kill so many. He preferred them to think he was too small and fragile to cause any damage than for them to kill him on the spot for the danger he posed for the kingdom.

“I have been told that you were found by the carcasses of many spiders that were torn to pieces.”

Bilbo stiffened at the accusation and mentally scolded himself. One of Nori’s many teachings was that any sign of it being you could potentially kill you. Case in point, Bilbo thought wryly to himself.

“Bring that one forward.” Bilbo prayed with all his heart that the king wasn’t talking about him and closed his eyes tightly.

But it seemed that the Valar were not with him that day as he felt harsh hands grab at his shoulders and pushed him to the very front of the throne. The Dwarrow were putting up a valiant fight, screaming insults the elves that took Bilbo from them and tried to fight past the guards to reach the terrified Hobbit.

They all knew he wouldn’t be able to do anything if it came to a fight. He wouldn’t even have time to slip his mask on before it would be snatched from his very hands, so he didn’t try. His fate was well and truly in the hands of those around him.

“And who are you to gain such a reaction from dwarves?” Bilbo heard the sneering voice from above him but did not allow himself to look up from the very interesting spot on the floor.

“I…I… I am a Hobbit from the Shire-” His stuttering’s were cut by the king’s hand pulling his hair, forcing the small, terrified Hobbit to look the cold ruler in the eye.

“I simply have to look at your feet to know what you are. I asked for whom, not what. What is your name, and what is that of your parents?”

Bilbo stared wide eyed at the stone face of the elf above him, tears trying to push free of his eyes but Bilbo remained strong and gained strength from the knowledge that his friends were right there with him.

“My…My name is Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins and… and…and Belladonna Baggins nee Took.”

He managed to force out as the grip on his hair became more painful. The second he finished his sentence, Bilbo was dropped to the floor and the pain instantaneously gone from his head.

“Lock the dwarves in one of the guest rooms and send Master Baggins to be cleaned and given clean clothing.”

The guards didn’t hesitate for a second and the company was dragged from the throne room in complete confusion.

What was going on?


	4. Disagreeable Dwarrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys like the new chapter!  
> Thanks for your dedication!

Even in the relaxing hot water of the bath he was given, Bilbo could not release the tension that was building in his body. He had no clue where the Dwarrow were, how they were doing, or if any of them were injured or not. All his questions were answered vaguely or dodged with a patronising look. It seemed that the Dwarrow’s hatred for elves was returned in full force, the elves were just more passive aggressive about it.

To make a bad situation worse, the Elves had taken his clothing that stored his mask. So even if he could contest against so many elves, it wouldn’t amount to much as the first bite at the fair beings would put him down, permanently.

So yes, Bilbo was tense and he was scared of not knowing what was going on.

Even his breathing was shaking from the nerves, so in an attempt to calm down, Bilbo took his mind away from where he was and focused instead on cleaning the yellowish substance from his body and tried to comb it out of his hair.

It took a while, but once the grit and grime from the journey through Mirkwood was gone Bilbo felt so much more refreshed, if not more confident in their situation. He slowly left the murky water and wrapped himself in the robe provided, he guessed it was made for an elven child due to the bright and playful colours and shapes.

The sudden knock on the door shook Bilbo from his reprieve, but he called in whoever it was all the same, and was shocked considerably when instead of another maid it was the very king himself who came in with a pile of clothes.

The fear snapped straight back into Bilbo’s figure, and he found himself backing into the corner of the room, leaving as much space as possible between him and the aloof king. The two stood in place, for what felt like an age, looking at each other appraisingly.

The elf nodded as though he had seen something that he approved of and moved to place the clothing onto the wooden chair on the opposite side of the room to Bilbo. He then opened up the changing screen and gave a meaningful look to the small Hobbit.

Bilbo was unable to refuse as the air was starting to become too cold to bear in a simple robe. He went about getting dressed, though he never took his eyes off the still king who was watching in kind. Bilbo went over the facts as he got dressed behind the screen.

Number one, the Dwarrow were locked up somewhere in this humungous building. This was bad, but at least they were together, the lucky buggers, whilst Bilbo was stuck in the company of the one person who held the authority to kill him at any time.

Number two, the king was interested in Bilbo for reasons unknown (that could be bad) and wanted to be alone with him to the point where he did the maids jobs despite his station. However, this interest helped in getting the Dwarrow a better accommodation than the dungeons.

Number three, if it all came down to a fight then Bilbo was in big trouble, or as Gloin would say, he was well and truly fucked from all sides.

Number four, Bilbo was going to have to keep on the King’s good side or else the whole Company was screwed.

Simple, Bilbo thought wryly with a hint of dread.

As he fastened the last button on his elven made waist coat, Bilbo took a deep breath and walked out from behind his shield and prepared himself for the negotiation of a lifetime, only to stop in shock at the soft smile on the other beings face as he looked over Bilbo’s new attire.

Bilbo stealthily pinched the back of his hand and barely concealed the wince that came with the sharp pain. Bilbo couldn’t believe it, this elf couldn’t be the one from before, but there wasn’t any other explanation.

“Come, we shall speak over a good hearty meal.” King Thranduil spoke as he strode out of the room with the eerie grace all elven kind seemed to possess.

Bilbo struggled to follow at the same speed, for every step the taller took, he had to speed through three steps and his bruised body wasn’t helping at all, causing him to be even slower than he was used to.

It took a great part of the walk for Bilbo to finally realise that all the elves in the corridors were staring in interest as the two sped by. It made Bilbo feel incredibly self-conscious and actually tried to hide himself behind his guide. The look said guide gave him gave Bilbo that the feeling that he was being laughed at.

Bilbo had to stop himself from puffing out his cheeks like some kind of slighted fauntling. He was a perfectly respectable (that was a bit of a stretch now) middle aged Hobbit and would not act like a child.

When they finally did stop, Bilbo was absolutely spell bound. It looked to be a dining room with a great big table and many stools lined next to it on either side. It was so very bright and had a magical and comforting aura about it.

But that wasn’t what had garnered Bilbo’s attention, Bilbo was rendered speechless from the sheer amount and variety of food that covered the table and the smell was practically divine. He could feel his mouth fill with drool and, despite his meal earlier, his stomach growled loudly in anticipation for some nicely prepared food.

“You may eat what you wish.” The King stated as he sat at the head of the table next to, who Bilbo assumed, his son. Bilbo’s cheeks filled with colour as he made notice to the young elf who he had not noticed until that moment.

Not wanting to anger either of them, he sat where the king had indicated and slowly started picking at the food. He almost moaned at the taste and only just stopped himself from digging in with gusto by reminding himself who exactly he was sat near.

Bilbo refused to look anywhere but his plate, the very situation was awkward although he seemed to be the only one of the three to think so. The king and prince (his name was Legolas Bilbo discovered) conversed about the kingdom as they ate, but Bilbo could feel the glances they sent to him as he continued to stubbornly pretend he wasn’t there.

“Bilbo, how is your mother doing these days?” Bilbo looked up shocked at the smiling prince, unsure why he thought it suitable to us his first name without any sort of manners.

“How…?” The question slipped out and Bilbo’s face heated. The two elves looked to each other with a fond smile.

“I must apologise, it would seem that we’ve had quite the lapse in judgement.” Bilbo was once again flabbergasted at the familiarity the king once again used. “We assumed you would have remembered us, even though you were only a small child when we last met.”

Bilbo’s eye’s widened. He looked closer at the two blonde elves, taking in their features and trying to place when it was they had met. But Bilbo could not find any form of recollection of elves in his memories.

“I’m sorry I-”

The prince cut in. “No, it’s not your fault. The years between our meetings are only a fraction to us and we forget how your kind feels the passage of time”

“I apologise if I’m being too invasive, but could you tell me how you knew my mother?” Bilbo asked, his curious mind wanting to know even more about elves and his deceased mother.

“Knew?” Thranduil narrowed his eyes. Bilbo felt guilty revealing the news.

“I’m afraid that she and my father died many years ago.”

Their faces fell into a stoic form of sadness and mourning. Their bodies slumped ever so slightly, but Bilbo was able to see the difference. They were truly sad for the hobbit lass they once knew many years ago.

“We met Belladonna as we were journeying back home after a meeting with Lord Elrond in Rivendell.” The king started. He had a faraway look to him as though he were reliving the memories. “I was perhaps too overconfident in mine and my son’s ability to deal with any conflict that came our way, and as such, it was only the two of us travelling.”

Bilbo was sure he knew where this was going. It sounded familiar and the hobbit was reminded of sitting beside the fire.

“We were soon attacked by more orcs and wargs than we were able to fight without gaining some serious injury. I soon lost sight of Legolas, and like any father, I panicked when I could no longer hear the sounds of combat.”

Legolas took over. “I had been pinned to the ground by a large orc that was extraordinarily strong for one of its kind. I struggled furiously to escape but had no such luck. So you can imagine my surprise when he was effortlessly knocked over by a being barely a quarter my size.”

“My mother,” Bilbo stated. He received a nod though he didn’t ask a question.

He could indeed imagine the expression on the prince’s face. Bilbo figured it wouldn’t be too much different to the looks on the Dwarrow the morning on the Carrock, though he doubted either race would appreciate the comparison so he kept his mouth shut.

He couldn’t keep the smile from his face at the thought and imagery though.

“Belladonna aided us in dispatching the rest of the filth and proceeded to scold us for “going off into the wild without proper protection.””

Thranduil spoke again. “During her rant, you erupted from behind a nearby bush and started poking the corpses with a sharp stick. I believe you were around eight or nine summers old at the time. However, one of them wasn’t quite as dead as we wanted and tried to attack. We rushed to save you but you were unperturbed and stuck your stick through its throat.”

Bilbo had a sudden flash and the pieces of the memory put themselves together to create a picture.

“I remember now.” He spoke with a spot of wonder in his voice. “We spent a few days travelling together and you were always playing pretend with me.”

A slight blush appeared and Bilbo vowed to do his best not to call the two by the nicknames he had graced them with all those years ago.

As much as they seemed fond of the past memories, Bilbo was sure they would prefer not to be reminded of “King grump” (Grump for short) and Lassy.

And he preferred not to give the Dwarrow anymore material against both him and the royal elves.

Bilbo realised that he no longer felt quite so tense and was even relaxing in the presence of the two “greatest enemies” of the Dwarrow. Why the stupid feud continued for so long, he didn’t know. The two races were equally as bad as each other and were too stubborn to notice it.

Putting away the thoughts of racist people, Bilbo squared his shoulders and looked directly in the eye of the king.

“Could I see the Dwarrow I travelled with? I wish to see if they are well.”

Bilbo was suddenly grateful for the fondness they held for him, because the distasteful looks on their faces told him that if he were anyone else, they would have vehemently refused with no questions asked.

However, Bilbo felt that the guards stationed at the door inside the guest room the Company was stored in was a bit much. He didn’t need any protection from his friends, thank you very much, though the hugs he received felt like his life was at some risk.

Bilbo could barely here his own thoughts over the multitude of shouting Dwarrow trying to make sure he was okay and could feel a headache appearing. But he took it all with a fond smile. His friends were safe and that was all that mattered.

Thorin silenced them all with a yell in, what Bilbo guessed, was their language. (Bilbo still felt somewhat miffed at the whole “everything is a secret” thing.)

With a suspicious glare, Thorin quietly inquired about Bilbo’s health and how the “tree shaggers” were treating him.

The Company was shocked that he had such ties with the likes of the royal “plant lovers”. Kili and Fili in particular, if their cries of “now we can say we had him first” were any indication. Though, Bilbo was flattered that they liked him enough to fight the elves for him. (But Bilbo also knew that they would fight them either way, but the sentiment was appreciated.)

“Bilbo,” Thorin murmured next to him. “Surely a kingdom would keep you filled and satisfied for a while?”

Bilbo turned to stare, hoping that he was joking. But the murderous glint in the king’s eye told him otherwise. Bilbo was happy that the smile morphed into a frown after a moment of deliberation.

“I don’t suppose they’d taste very good. Most likely taste like the trees they love so much.”

Bilbo, in a fit of irritation, slapped the back of the mad dwarf’s head much like he did with his Took cousins when they did something incredibly stupid.

“Need I remind you that I only eat “evil” creatures?”

Bilbo wanted so much to place his face in his hands when Thorin turned to look at him with a look of “yes, and?”

“As much as you dislike them, Elves are in no way tainted. So I can’t eat them!”

The grumps and grumbles from around him proved that they didn’t believe it in the slightest. Gloin even made the comment that “perhaps their just a different breed of evil.”

How was he supposed to survive being around the stubbornness of Dwarrow?


	5. Break Out

Bilbo knew that the two blonds had missed him over the years, but he had to draw the line at restricting his time with the rest of The Company. Oh, he could tell they were trying to be subtle about it, but it doesn’t take a genius to recognise when someone is trying to take up all your time.

Yet it was one thing to seethe and another to actually do anything about it. He wasn’t sure what reaction the defiance could arouse. It could end up with them locked away in the dungeons or have their food privileges withdrawn. Well, that and the thought of disrespecting not only a family friend, but also a powerful king, made Bilbo’s knees shake in fear.

So Bilbo had to play the long game.

He ate with the royals every meal (snacks were delivered throughout the day, no matter where he was), read in the library, he watched the training of the guards, gardened in the herb patch, met with the loud and very grumpy Dwarrows and plotted.

He used the silence his feet provided to escape from under the nose of which ever elf was watching over him at the time and explored the rooms and corridors he had been steered away from. Through both this and the tours the staff brought him on, gave Bilbo all he needed to understand the layout of the palace. It was big and hard to memorise, but Bilbo had some very good motivation.

“Ah, there you are Bilbo.”

Speaking of motivation, Bilbo thought ruefully. The small hobbit turned to face the main perpetrator of Bilbo’s need to leave. The elf that always seemed to be only a few steps behind no matter the duties Bilbo was sure he had.

“Legolas, I had been told that you had a council meeting this afternoon.” Bilbo placed a tight smile on his face as the fair haired prince walked closer. He had thought it almost too good to be true.

Within seconds of being in reaching distance, Bilbo felt his feet leave the floor and the dizziness of suddenly rising enter his head. It soon cleared as, unfortunately, Bilbo was becoming used to being manhandled by the young elf. The familiar heat of embarrassment filled his cheeks as he squirmed about. Being placed on someone’s hip like a toddler was as comfortable as you’d think, which is to say the least, about as comfortable as being tossed about by trolls.

Bilbo was just glad that Legolas didn’t do it in front of the company, especially the two young princes, he would either never hear the end of it or the company would start a fight about the “tree shaggers” disrespecting their burglar.

However, thinking it over again, Bilbo was almost completely sure that both situations (and probably more) would take place in the most unpleasant way.

“My father gave me permission to miss out on this one, rarely anything of import comes up and when it does the problem is solved easily. So my presence is not needed.”

“Then shouldn’t you have other duties to attend?” Bilbo hoped he didn’t sound nearly as bitter or desperate as he felt. He didn’t want Legolas to think him pouting over something entirely irrelevant to the actual cause.

“It would seem we’re in luck today as the rest of my day is free of any work.” Bilbo was suddenly bounced higher up onto the hip and left him to blink in shock over what happened. “So what would you like to do?”

“I was hoping to see my friends today. I had promised Dori I would help him repair some of the clothes that had been torn from the fight against the spiders.”

Bilbo eyed the distasteful look on his transports face with a healthy dose of wariness. It was always a tossup on whether he’d be allowed to go, but Legolas was more likely to let him than most of the others.

Bilbo had to stifle the yell of success when he was given a stiff nod. The plan was about to commence and Bilbo prayed to all the divine that it would go off without a hitch, but judging by their past experiences, Bilbo wasn’t holding onto too much hope. It didn’t matter how they got out, as long as they managed to leave all intact.

The stealing of the keys was the easy part, or so Bilbo thought. All Bilbo had to do was chat to the guards a bit, switch out the room keys for the kitchen keys he had stolen not that long ago and give the keys to Nori. It took only a moment of eye contact and the two knew that it was going to be that night or never.

“I’ll distract the guards.” Bilbo whispered as he focused on stitching the tunic in his lap.

“I’ll tell the others of the plan.” The star haired dwarf murmured as he walked past.

And with that, everything was set in place. Now it was just the waiting game.

Bilbo sighed in relief when Captain Tauriel called Legolas away, he was told that the spiders had come too close, but Bilbo could see in the way they moved and looked that something more was going on. Bilbo wasn’t sure if luck seemed to be on their side after all or if whatever had the two unsettled would be the downfall of The Company of Oakenshield.

The hobbit stalked the shadows of the orange evening and peered around every corner he came upon, the pressure of this needing to right messed with Bilbo’s head. He became paranoid that anything and everything was aware of what they were doing and was going to stop him at any second.

But it never happened, and Bilbo found himself in the hallway only occupied by him and two thoroughly drugged guards. A flash of worry made Bilbo ponder if he gave them too much valerian but was calmed at the soft snores, although Bilbo winced at the thought of the nasty headache they’d have in the morning.

A quick knock to the door and the Company of Thorin Oakenshield was making their way down the echoic hallways. The sound of each step of the company became three. Making Bilbo and a few of the others jump and look around for the non-existent elf.

Whatever was going on outside, it had all the occupants of the palace leave their usual stations and give the prisoners a greater chance of escaping.

They made sure to stop off to pick up their packs and weapons. As Bilbo stared down at his mask he felt his face warm and tears of joy threatened to fall, but he was quick to tuck it away and ignore the feeling in order to lead the noisy Dwarrows to the wine cellar.

“What are we doing here?” Fili whispered incredulously, eyeing up the empty wine barrels with interest and confusion.

“Just get into the barrels!” Bilbo pushed the ones within reach. They turned to him with an angry kind of confusion and looked about ready to argue with him, but the footsteps on the stairs above stopped any arguments and moved them into action.

The sight of Dwarrow in so many barrels was odd to say the least and Bilbo vaguely thought about the strange positions the adventure had managed to throw them into.

He took a moment to make sure they were all tucked in and moved to the lever.

“This probably isn’t a good time to tell you Hobbits can’t swim.” Bilbo smiled nervously at his encased friends.

“Swim? What are you on about laddie?” Balin asked.

“Yep, sink like a rock, we do.” Bilbo grimaced and pulled the lever. He sped into his own barrel only seconds before it fell into the water and he let himself be dragged into the control of the tumbling waves and currents.

They twisted and turned and dropped and rose with such frightening speed that Bilbo couldn’t tell which way he was facing, never mind how the rest were faring. Though, by the sound of Kili’s laughter, Bilbo was sure they were all fine.

Now what Bilbo wasn’t aware of, was that there was a fight between elves and orcs happening all around them with a few helping axes from the company and that Kili was actually laughing at the poor orc that had been skewered by a pale elk.

Thorin made his peace with siding with the elves by telling himself that orcs were worse neighbours than the elves, even if it was only by a fraction.

Dwalin on the other hand was ready to shove his sword through the body if the impudent elf that had decided his head was a suitable platform to shoot from. No, he was not impressed and he did not ask to have the shoe of field frolicker to be imprinted onto his head.

Gloin was in much the same position, but he wondered if he could blame a missing elf limb or three on the orcs. It would sure teach the haughty prince a lesson or two.

The dizzying trip kept Bilbo from relaxing his body from its impressive grip on the barrel and Bilbo simply kept his eyes plastered shut hoping that it would be over soon. He was tossed from side to side as the barrel kept running into the rocks at the bottom and sides of the rapid river and he was sure his last meal wasn’t too far from reappearing.

His mind was spinning in all directions and Bilbo wasn’t quite sure if the rapid journey on the river was over or not.

Bilbo’s eyes snapped open in surprise when he felt rough hands pull him out onto dry land. He looked around wildly looking for any elves that may have caught them but was calmed when he could only see his friends.

“Thank you Bifur.” Bilbo spoke as he straightened out his rumpled clothing. The gruff dwarf nodded in response and walked off after making sure Bilbo was in one piece.

“What were you thinking laddie?”

Bilbo whirled around to see a very angry Dori approaching with rapid speed. The hobbit wasn’t sure what the dwarf was talking about but murmured something to try and placate him, though without much luck.

“What on Middle Earth possessed you to send us all down a fast water river when you can’t even swim?!”

He was stopped by a hand on the chest that was connected to an agitated Thorin who was looking back up the river with a sharp eye.

“We don’t have time for this.” He murmured darkly. “The Orcs could be here any second, we must leave.”

Bilbo’s eyebrows shot up and he looked around hoping that the others would be just as confused but instead was further befuddled as they were moving out quickly.

“Orcs? What orcs?” Bilbo asked, struggling to keep up with the fast pace.

“Didn’t you notice Bilbo? The orcs were swarming the river as we left, and the elves were fighting them too. How did you miss that?” Fili asked. The dwarven heir pulled the small hobbit over the pile of rocks.

“Well I apologise for being spun around so much.” He replied sarcastically.

Not much was said after that. The sound of wargs in the distance was enough to make everyone bring up their walls, ready for even the slightest of noises to tip off any pursuing threats.

So it was a surprise to them all when a man managed to sneak up on them with a bow and arrow.

Bilbo wasn’t even aware he was in the immediate area until Dwalin’s axe was shot out of his hand by a large and heavy looking arrow, much larger than anything Kili used. But, with a glance, Bilbo was able to determine that it wasn’t of Elven make, or at least wasn’t from Mirkwood.

“What brings a group of dwarves and a child so close to Lake Town?” The man asked, his next arrow aimed at Balin.

“Excuse me! I am a hobbit, not a child!” Bilbo yelled, disgruntled.

The man lowered his bow in order to take a closer look at the smallest member of the company. He tilted his head in confusion.

“A Halfling? And so far east?”

Bilbo spluttered and glared at the man. “I am half of nothing, thank you very much!”


	6. From Peasants To Kings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I know this chapters a bit slower than the others but I hope you enjoy it all the same and any comments would be welcome!

It had taken a lot of gold and even more convincing to get the bowman to smuggle the fourteen of them into Lake Town. Yet it saddened Bilbo that the man was willing to let a suspicious group into his town, potentially endangering everyone in it, for a purse full of money.

After a while aboard the floating death trap, Bilbo found that despite the man’s lack of manners he was a very honourable man. You could tell in the way that Bard spoke of his children that he was so very proud of all three of them, and at the same time he wished to be able to provide more for them and the rest of the residents.

In some ways he reminded Bilbo of Thorin. Both beaten and torn through no fault of their own and yet still striving for a better future for their people. In actuality, he would have thought Bard the leader of the village if it weren’t for the scathing words the man spoke about the current master.

For the first time in his life, Bilbo truly wished he could eat the flesh of a man, if only to purge the world of his greed and indifference to the suffering of others

“There’s no need for such a face.” Bard spoke, “The towns problems are for the town’s people to solve.”

Bilbo disagreed. He was raised in the Shire, which meant you helped all those in need. If one clan was having trouble farming good crops or having a dispute then the others would gather to help. His home ran on the belief that we all need each other to get through both the good and tough times.

Unity is everything, Bilbo thought to himself as he looked ahead.

The rest of the journey was mostly uneventful, with the exception of having fish dumped on their heads, and it gave Bilbo a chance to just relish in the peace. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen when they finally did reach Erebor, and there was a small part of him that didn’t want to chance it, but Bilbo knew that there was no backing out now. The Dwarrow were his friends and he would do all in his power to help them.

That being said, crawling into a home through the toilet wasn’t the most dignified thing to do. Though, he had to stifle a laugh at the youngest child’s statement to seeing them. Dwarrow were capable of many things, but bringing luck with just their presence really wasn’t one of them. If anything, it was the opposite way around, bad luck seemed to follow them around like a duckling, just less cute and with a lot more pointy things.

It took some time and effort but they managed to get themselves comfortable in the small damp home, even Bilbo a little spot to relax and doze next to the toasty warm fireplace. (Though it seemed a rather dangerous thing to have on a floating wooden village)

His mind was thankfully blank as he listened to the snores and breaths of the Dwarrow around him. There was just something extremely calming about normally rambunctious people being in such a deep sleep. He simply let his mind drift in the comfort of having a roof over his head and a fire to soak the warmth from.

“Bilbo?”

Said hobbit was shocked from his near sleep state and opened a single eye to see Kili stood awkwardly. He looked desperate to say something but he didn’t want them to be overheard, if the wary glances at the sleeping company meant what he thought. The young dwarf looked both embarrassed and guilty, but Bilbo being who he was, stood with a sigh and a stretch and led the royal away from the others.

As they exited the house their bodies shuddered involuntarily and their breaths became visible in the winter night. Bilbo pulled his thick coat closer to his body as he sat on the edge of the board walk and shuffled closer to Kili as he did the same.

The silence continued for some time before Bilbo finally realised that Kili wasn’t able to find the words to start the conversation. The young dwarf had his brows furrowed in frustration as he stared across the calm waters.

“Couldn’t you sleep?” Bilbo winced at the words. Out of all the things he could have said, the hobbit chose that?

“No.” The answer was barely a whisper, and Bilbo wondered if the prince now regretted waking him up.

“Well then-”

“I’m not good with words.” Kili cut in. He looked to the flustered dwarf in confusion. “I mean, Fili’s much better at it than me. I know he doesn’t seem it, always joking and acting thick, but you should see him talk circles around the duddy old council members. He’s been taught how to do that kind of thing all his life and I know he will be a great king when Uncle decides to step down… but.”

The poor boy was frowning down at his hands, his brows furrowing deeper.

“Are you not happy with Fili becoming king?” Bilbo tried to guess. He was sure he was wrong, the boys were as thick as thieves, and Bilbo had never seen them get jealous of the other. But even the most loving heart can long for what is not theirs.

“Of course I am,” Kili burst out, “I know Fili will be the best king since the first Durin! He’s perfect for the position and anyway, being a king isn’t my thing, I’d hate to have to be so serious all the time.”

The joke fell flat as Bilbo continued to wonder.

Bilbo asked, “Then what has got you so unsettled?”

Kili sighed, “We weren’t raised to be kings. Fili and I, we don’t know anything other than growing up a commoner. We missed food when the winter became cruel, we ran out of money when Uncle couldn’t find anyone to pay for his blacksmithing, we climbed trees with other children and swam in the streams. I miss the times when Erebor was just a bedtime story, and Smaug was only seen in our nightmares. I miss being invisible and free and just… normal.”

So that was it. Bilbo couldn’t say that he understood. Hobbits were very aware of their position from a very young age, either you were to become the head of the family or you live as any other hobbit. They were a simple race and it showed.

“Why are you saying this to me? Surely your uncle or brother-”

“Uncle wouldn’t understand and Fili has enough to worry about!” Tears appeared at the edge of Kili’s eyes. “I can’t even talk to the company because I’m their prince; I’m supposed to be sure and determined in all my thoughts and decisions.”

Bilbo looked wide eyed at the frustrated dwarf. He was always so full of energy and mischief that Bilbo could never had noticed that he was battling with such thoughts and concerns.

“So you thought talking to me would be better, or at least easier?”

Kili nodded as he looked into the water below, suddenly looking downtrodden.

“I mean, you’re the only one who won’t treat me any differently. You even treat Uncle like a normal dwarf!”

“That’s because we hobbits don’t have royalty.” Bilbo couldn’t help the small chuckle at Kili’s incredulous expression. “It’s true, we really don’t see what the fuss and bother is.”

“What? How can you not have a king? But what about the Thain Hobbit you keep talking about?”

“The Thain is just the Hobbit in charge of outside relations. In fact the current Thain is my grandfather on my mother’s side. It is a much respected position but not one any hobbit wants on their shoulders, so we leave it to the adventurous Took’s. We Hobbit’s prefer to help each other than let one family decide everything. Think of the stress the poor gentle-hobbit would go through! No, a respectable Hobbit does their very best to help other hobbits.”

Bilbo had a nostalgic smile on his face, he missed his cousins more than he had realised but felt that they’d be so proud of him. He could just imagine them cheering when he made his way back into the Shire.

He blinked quite suddenly as he snapped back into the present reality and looked to Kili.

“I’m sorry, I went quite off topic. What I was supposed to say is that I’m not the one you should be telling this, I have been taught that family is to help whenever possible and I know for a fact that your Uncle would do his very best to understand your thoughts and soothe any worries you have.”

Bilbo’s heart was very close to breaking when Kili stared up to him with fragile hope. He was only a child, barely past his majority and this made it all that more obvious. The dwarf even reminded him of his young cousins with the way he was looking to Bilbo then.

He smiled and ruffled the top of Kili’s head kindly.

“It’s quite apparent that your Uncle loves both you boys with all his heart. He could never disregard or mock your fears, and if by some moment of insanity he does, a good whack over the head with Bombur’s pan should put some sense in his thick skull.”

The sniggering took a moment to die down and the two turned to gaze at the stars above.

“Tomorrows problems are best to wait for tomorrow.”

Kili nodded silently in agreement.

Bilbo was happy to see that all the Dwarrow, including Kili, were acting as they normally did; which is to say they were making a ruckus and Bilbo didn’t have the heart (or energy) to scold them.

Bard’s family on the other hand looked stuck between joining in the merriment and disapproving of their actions, though his youngest was content in talking and playing with Bofur.

The only problem was the lack of food for the first meal of the day. It was barely enough for the eighteen people in the home and certainly not enough for a hobbit, so he looked down into his now empty bowl with sadness.

It seemed Bilbo would once again have to get used to being hungry until they came across another round of enemies that Bilbo would be able to eat.

A sudden loud growl stopped all other noise in the home and Bilbo’s cheeks became flushed. He placed his hands on his complaining stomach in a hopeless attempt to quieten it. A loud clacking noise made Bilbo’s head shoot up to see many bowls filled with the remains of the others meal.

Bilbo held back his arguments and made sure to take the act as the Dwarrow intended and began to dig into the offerings he was given. He once again was filled with joy at the Company’s concern in making sure he didn’t starve again.

Bard’s questioning gaze was answered by Dwalin.

“You do not want to see a Hungry Hobbit, trust me.”

The man wasn’t sure what the gruff dwarf was on about, but the harsh glare he was given told him that he shouldn’t comment on it lest the whole company’s wrath come down on him. So he kept his mouth shut and continued eating his breakfast.

It was later in the day that Bilbo witnessed Kili confessed his concerns to Thorin away from the others. Bilbo counted himself lucky that he had noticed them at all with how well hidden the two were. He was slightly worried what Thorin would say, but soon relaxed as the two seemed to be discussing just as he hoped.

He jumped at the hand that appeared on his shoulder and was surprised to see Fili giving him a meaningful stare.

“Thank you.”

No more needed to be said and the two left Kili and Thorin to themselves, safe in the assumption that all was fine; though Bilbo would vehemently deny that he walked with a slight skip in his step afterwards.


	7. Shiny Pebble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look at that. two chapters in a row. I'd thank my friends for that, they wouldn't let me stop until I finished this chapter. Though i was ridiculously tired when i wrote it so there's probably a ton of mistakes. but either way i hope you enjoy the chapter.
> 
> Comments and kudos would make my day!

Bilbo was completely baffled by the, in his opinion, nutty amount of gold and jewellery that stretched out like the sea before him. Honestly, Bilbo was starting to wonder exactly where the Dwarrow’s priorities lay, because this was just a complete waste of space and made finding a simple (sorry, “very important”) jewel that probably looked identical to the rest of the thousands of shiny rocks in the bloody large mountain.

 To make things worse Bilbo was so very hungry and he had yet to see any sign of a dragon in the mountain. On the other hand, Bilbo was really hoping that Smaug was as dead as people seemed to believe (hoped) because he was starting to truly understand the situation he had placed himself in.

A tiny 3ft Hobbit against a dragon the size of mountains?

Bilbo wasn’t liking the odds at all.

It was in that moment that he started regretting giving his sword to Ori. “Hobbits don’t use weapons” his arse. This Hobbit would gladly have something extra to defend himself. Even that useless letter opener of a sword.

So he was making his way through the empty kingdom with a light foot and a healthy dose of fear and nerves. It really didn’t help that the Dwarrow sent him off with such morbid expressions. Even the young princes thought he wouldn’t have much of a chance if the beast woke. Even the slightest vote of confidence would have made this just a little bit easier on his nerves.

Apparently he was just looking for a white jewel without being given much more than a simple “You’ll know it when you see it.” Yes, thank you very much Balin, because Hobbits were known for their bloody stone sense!

For Yavanna’s sake, Bilbo thought, there were too many glowing stones to count and none looked very much different from the other! He would very much prefer not to have to dig because coming face to face with a fire breathing drake was not something he’d ever strive to do!

(Let’s just forget about his little childhood dream)

Bilbo accidently stumbled and stared with fearful eyes as he kicked a goblet off the stair case and onto the giant pile of treasure. The noise it made going down made Bilbo flinch with every impact until it reached its final destination.

Bilbo stood stock still, ears alert to any sign of movement and eyes shooting around wildly. The silence rung through the hollow mountain and Bilbo wanted very much to out, preferably as fast as his legs could carry him.

But instead he let out a very small and very embarrassing squeak when his own sneeze startled him. There were times he was glad that none of the Dwarrows were with him. He could only imagine the teasing he would get for sounding like a mouse.

He flinched at a sudden gust of wind that came from behind him. Then again, being teased was a simple price for some company.

“Get it together, Baggins. You’re not helping anybody by jumping at shadows.”

A thought passed through his mind that caused his body to freeze in place.

“I’m in a mountain…. Wind cannot enter far in a mountain.” So what was that gust before?

“Indeed, even the strongest of winds would have trouble penetrating this kingdom.”

Bilbo was proud to say that he didn’t squeak this time when he turned to find himself face to face with a head many times bigger than Bilbo himself.

“Which leads me to wonder, how did you get in here, little thief?”

Yep, Bilbo was really beginning to regret coming to this Mordor spawned mountain. Cross that, he really wished the dragon had never existed to begin with. It would have made his life much easier.

Said dragon’s face suddenly came closer causing Bilbo to fall back in an attempt to create more space between the two.

“Well thief?”

Honest to goodness Bilbo had tried to use his words to at least buy some time so he could come up with an escape plan. But instead, the second he opened his mouth, all that tumbled out was some very strong profanities, some he didn’t even know he knew, and some very special ones taught by his family and the Company. In fact, Bilbo was sure a few of them were Kuzhul words he had heard Bifur use in moments of anger or frustration.

In some weird way Bilbo was pretty proud of himself, and if he hadn’t been so scared, he would have laughed at the face the “mighty” dragon was giving him. The being obviously thought Bilbo was insane or some such.

Bilbo wasn’t too sure if he hadn’t at some point during the trek to the Lonely Mountain.

Luckily Bilbo did finish his moment of verbal overflow before Smaug decided he didn’t need to his head to survive anymore. However, Bilbo felt it was a very close call.

“There’s a hole. In the side of the mountain. Rather small actually, I only just barely fit through.” Bilbo stuttered.

“And how were you expecting to steal my gold then?” The giant purred. His voice sent shivers of fear up Bilbo’s spine.

“I wasn’t planning on stealing your gold.” Bilbo answered honestly, slightly confused until he remembered why he was there.

Though truthfully, he wasn’t after the gold, just a stone. And even if he had been sent to steal the gold it technically wasn’t Smaug’s. If anything it was Thorin’s. But Bilbo doubted the dragon would appreciate his thoughts on the matter and wisely kept it to himself.

“You speak the truth.” Smaug spoke after a time inspecting every inch of the small hobbit. “Then tell me, what are you and why are you here?”

Bilbo’s anxiety was rising rapidly as the reptile moved about to corner him. There was a dreadful feeling that he was being treated like the mouse to Smaug’s cat.

“I – I am a-a Hobbit.” Bilbo took a deep breath, there was no point getting scared. He was either going to eat or be eaten and there was nothing he could do about it. So he may as well make sure the next few moments would make his mother proud and his father sigh in defeat.

“And I am here because I was told a dragon resided in the Lonely Mountain. As it turns out I was not misinformed!”

Bilbo’s heart once again fluttered frightfully as the humongous teeth came ever closer. If Bilbo had looked closer he was sure he would be able to see his reflection.

“Why, pray tell, would you want to face a dragon?”

“Well, that would be because I’ve never tasted dragon flesh before. I’ve had Orc and Warg and Troll and even something yet to be named. But I’ve never had dragon before, so I was curious.”

The mountain shook with the patronising laughter of the red dragon, and to be honest, Bilbo was kind of miffed. He knew he was small and looked very unthreatening, but that was the whole point. Lure them in with an easy kill and kill them instead.

Simple.

But no. No one understood the genius of the Green Lady in her design on the Hobbits. Honestly, how else would they eat if their looks frightened the prey off?

As it were, Bilbo let the beast finish his guffaws and got himself ready to go into the Hunger.

Only to hear the heavy boot steps of thirteen dwarves. Very dead dwarves if Bilbo (or even Smaug) had any say in the matter.

“You brought Dwarves into my mountain?!”

Bilbo blinked at the rage directed at him, and before the realisation of the danger he was in kicked in he let his mouth run again.

“I really thought you would have smelled them on me. Guess I had my expectations too high.”

If the dragon wasn’t angry before, he certainly was now. It took all of Bilbo’s skills and the added power of the Hunger to escape the flames aimed directly for him.

His mind instantly zeroed in on the fleshy part of the back leg, and no matter how much the rational part tried to force, he couldn’t distract himself to check on the dwarves. But he could vaguely hear a sound that didn’t belong and he hoped to the Valar that it was them shouting for his attention.

He dashed around the cavernous room, dodging the barrage of flames, teeth and claws, if only barely. His body was pushing itself to its limits and Bilbo was getting so, so hungry. His eyes never left the thick muscular legs that just promised so much and left him drooling even in such a dangerous time.

His scream was inhuman, it echoed throughout the treasury making it sound like the ghosts of the long past were bellowing for them to be avenged, for the dragon to die, for them to finally be free of their fiery chains.

Bilbo glared at the giant beast with crazed eyes that promised a painful death like no other. His face pulled into a feral sneer and his teeth aching to finally rip into something worthwhile!

He dashed under and through the small openings he was given, and yet he couldn’t touch Smaug without being impaled or burnt to ashes. A vicious growl tore through his throat in frustration, his feral side wasn’t finding anyway to get close enough to deal any damage.

A large clang shook the very foundations which caused the two battling beings to turn towards the sound, to see the statue of a very large, very shiny dwarf holding a spear.

Bilbo’s eyes widened in amazement and for the first time he wanted to kiss the Dwarrow for their genius!

Before he even finished the thought, his body was off to use the opening the Company had given him. He jumped up onto the giants back and raced to the dragon’s throat, his throat going dry at the thought of the thick red blood that would be flowing down it.

He was getting closer and closer, so close to finally deal some damage and finally start to fill his aching gut.

Bilbo screamed in pain. The sound sent shivers up the spines of the creatures in the mountain as they stare at him in shock.

His jaw was pulsing in agony and his teeth aching. Biting Smaug felt like he was trying to devour the strongest metal on Middle Earth.

“My armor is like tenfold shields! My teeth are like swords! My claws, spears! The shock of my tail, a thunderbolt! My wings, a hurricane! And my breath... death!”

Shit.

Bilbo could feel blood fall from his mouth, his blood. Fury ravaged the small hobbits body, it felt as if the very fire Smaug breathed was settling in his bones and his blood was now molten steel. How dare the dragon- no- worm. How dare the witless worm make him bleed, take his meal, and keep him from his prize?

Bilbo was going to enjoy making the pathetic Thing scream in agony and make it beg for death. He was going to rip out the thing’s intestines as it still was aware!

Bilbo suddenly paused, all anger and hatred simmering down to a manageable heat. Intestines? That could work, the dragon couldn’t have scales inside now could he.

Bilbo could feel his face turn into a wicked grin. Oh the worm was going to scream so prettily, he just knew it.

The hobbit sped to the fleeing Dwarrow, impatient to taste the flesh of a living dragon. The three royals had somehow managed to keep together through the carnage, which was a feat in itself. The three of them looked scared to have the hobbit speed towards them to which Bilbo scoffed. As if this was the time to scared of him of all creatures?

“Make the worm breath fire.” He managed to grunt out before speeding back towards his meal. The Hungry Hobbit cared little for the Dwarrow. They could look after themselves and Bilbo needed food.


	8. Dragon Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to do, but the chapters all done now. You would not believe how many times i went over this to make sure it was as good as i could get it. I know many of you were anticipating this one, so i hope you enjoy!
> 
> As always, Kudos and Comments are very much welcome!

Bilbo growled low in his throat as he was forced to dodge yet another swipe of the dragon’s lethal claws. Each swipe seemed to be getting closer and closer, forcing Bilbo to become more daring, more erratic with his evading. He had been forced to glide over the scaly paws many times only to end up thrown to another part of the treasury.

Bilbo was moving faster than he remembered ever going, forcing his legs to keep up the pace and even pick up the pace when he was dangerously close to death. His body was far from reaching its limit, but the same couldn’t be said about his patience, his irritation flared out each time he missed or when he wasn’t able to move as fast as he wanted. It was making him reckless, lashing out in anger and placing futile attacks on the thick scaly armour. All this amounted to was angering the dragon which led to being showered in Smial sized boulders.

He rarely managed to dodge all of the shrapnel, leaving him with substantial bruising and deep cuts littering his body. The Hunger kept him from feeling the effects of the damage, but he knew he was no invincible. Too many cuts would drain him of his blood and another large boulder could crush his head or chest, neither of which would allow him to move ever again.

The gash on his head was particularly irritating as the heavy flow blood obscured the vision in his right eye. It was a blind spot he couldn’t afford, but no matter how many times he wiped the sticky blood away more would take its place and Bilbo was left to deal with what he had, which wasn’t going to be enough.

The rational side of Bilbo tried to scream some sense into his feral counterpart, these frenzied attacks were getting him nowhere and he needed to think of another strategy. He needed to work with the Dwarrow rather than simply waiting to chance upon an opening that was likely to never come.

Another scream of frustration ripped through the hobbit’s mouth, damaging his throat further. He was darting around the beast, through the dragon’s legs and over the monsters paws, his legs moving so fast they were a blur, the hunger forcing his body to become better, faster, stronger.

The deep hollow ache in his gut only encouraged the hobbit to leave behind all sense of coherence and lose himself to the madness that was the Hunger. It was a battle on all fronts and Bilbo’s rational part was starting to worry. He couldn’t keep this up for too much longer, sooner or later the Hunger was going to swallow him if he didn’t get some tainted flesh soon.

Bilbo suddenly skidded to a stop, the coins spraying as he skated through them only to stop a good distance from the snout of the fire drake. The two stared at each other, sizing up the other. Neither was making progress and they knew that only way to win was to change tactics.

Bilbo’s face curled into vicious sneer, baring his blood stained teeth as ragged breaths rattled in his chest. He was hunched, sacrificing posture for speed, with his hands clawed and his eyes full of pure hatred. He looked more of a monster than ever before, more like the true nature of what a hobbit was.

Bilbo was _terrifying_ ; the Dwarrow looked on in horror from the side-lines. Bilbo may have been small compared to the dragon, but standing against the beast, one of the most monstrous creatures in all of creation, the Dwarrow knew they would rather take on Smaug.

 “Look at you _Thief,_ do you really believe that you could defeat me?! The mighty Smaug?!” The worm crouched down into a very familiar pose, turning the hobbits grimace into a menacing grin. “I think not!”

“Oh, shut up.” His mangled throat made the words deeper, rougher, more menacing than he had been able to produce ever before. The longer the battle commenced, the more horrific the hobbit was becoming.

Without even so much as a twitch of a warning, Bilbo hurtled straight for the dragons face. The beast wouldn’t be prepared for that move; most would run away from dragon fire, not towards it. This confusion was what Bilbo was aiming for.

He smirked, the dragon had hesitated. This was the only chance he was going to get and by Yavanna he was going to make it count.

Time seemed to slow for the Hungry Hobbit; the dragon’s movements had become slow, prolonged, allowing Bilbo to predict his every movement. Each twitch of the beast looked to be more of an exaggerated motion, its eyes took eons to blink, and even Bilbo’s own body was moving sluggishly, weighing him down.

He gritted his teeth, and repressed a scream of rage. He wasn’t going to make it in time. He was too slow, too weak to force his legs push anymore, to go any faster.

This time he let the roar burst out, the walls of the cavern vibrated from the very sound of it. The mountain itself seemed to shake from the force of his rage. Blood sprayed from his mouth and dripped down his chin.

He was a hobbit, one of the strongest predators on this accursed land. His people were made by Yavanna herself to protect the land, to kill to wipe away every trace of filth from Middle Earth. And yet here he was, too weak to do his duty.  He was going to die by the hands of the very thing he was made to destroy.

The anger and self-hatred rapidly filled his very being, heating his centre to inconceivable temperatures. Even Bilbo’s sensible side was adding to the inferno that was building in his very core. He was a hobbit, Yavanna damn it, and he was going to rip this Mordor spawned bag of puss from into shreds if it was the last thing he ever did, damn the consequences!

Bilbo’s expression went blank.

Something snapped within him. Power unlike he had felt ever before cascaded through his mind and body. A flood of an unimaginable feeling poured to the tips of his fingers and toes, covering every part of his body inside and out, filling all he was and all he had with this new strength.

He could see every coin, jewel and goblet flooding the treasure room. He could feel even the slightest movement and change of the air, and even sense the presence of every living creature in the mountain. His pulse was pounding slowly in his ears, deafening him to any other sounds.

His aching gut was no longer a distraction; in its place was a feeling of absolute need to eradicate the dragon. He was no longer frenzied, his mind no longer in jumbles and working on his instincts alone. He was scarily calm, like he was simply experiencing a walk through a field and not running straight towards the deadly mouth of a fire drake.

Bilbo almost laughed in excitement when he realise that his body had finally caught up with his mind. The world around him was still moving sluggishly whilst he moved with astonishing speed. It felt so exhilarating, to move with such speed, with such precision and strength. It felt like he had finally become one with the world.

His grin turned victorious as his hands made contact with the monsters tooth. He gripped the bone with all his strength (he wasn’t going to make any mistakes, he needed to make this happen), cracking the spear as he used it to catapult across the slimy forked tongue and into the dark passage of the creatures throat.

I doubt there had ever before been a creature so happy to be falling down a dragon’s gullet, in fact, I’d bet you’d be hard pressed to find anyone so completely insane enough to think of it in the first place.

But that was what it meant to be a hobbit in hunger; you would do what no other would, throw yourself further into insanity and evil to purge the land of infestation. That was what they were and they liked it.

The second the light disappeared from view Bilbo lashed out, his hands, feet, teeth; he ripped into the surrounding slimy flesh with everything he had. Blood poured over him as he ripped out the smooth meat. He laughed like a madman when he felt the blood curdling screams of the worm; he revelled in the soothing sensation of the blood running down into his stomach, easing the agony of his shredded throat.

Bilbo felt pure glee when he encountered a bone. It was so very large, thicker than the hobbit and dense enough to feel like a wall. He was so close to the heart, he just knew it. And boy did he want it, crave it even. He wanted to feel it pulse in his hands, feel it beat faster and harder in desperation as he crushed it into paste. He wanted to feel the monster’s life leave its body; he wanted to feel the euphoria of defeating the Mighty Smaug! He wanted it to feel _everything_ he did, every broken bone and pulverised organ _,_ every bite, scratch and kick. He wanted the Thing to feel him wriggling around under his skin, in his veins and through his bones.

He continued to dig, pushing bones out the way with a sickening crack and shoving more and more into his mouth to consume. It was a wonder he hadn’t become full yet with all the flesh that slid down into his stomach so easily. Bilbo was ecstatic to find that he was right about the dragon, that it tasted so much better than anything he had imagined. It was so sweet and yet so bitter, so filled with Melkor’s tainted power that it felt like he was consuming the deity himself.

He moaned in ecstasy as the flesh melted on his tongue. It tasted so delicious, so addicting. Bilbo paused when he realised he was no longer bathing in blood. He looked forward to see what he had been searching for, the worm’s heart. It was large, larger than Bilbo’s whole body and then some, yet it seemed to be beating weakly, having trouble finding the strength to continue pushing the small amount of blood left around the massive body.

The hobbit reached forward and gripped the organ with his newfound strength. The agonized screams finally reached his ears and by golly was it heavenly. He yanked the chunk out of the poor heart, blood flew out at a fascinating rate, it was only a small hole compared to the size of the heart, and yet it looked to be spilling all the blood.

With newfound enthusiasm he continued to tear chunks of the gorgeous flesh, the blood making it slimy and so much better. Bilbo laughed manically as he moved faster and faster, tearing of piece after piece, relishing in the moment.

The poor organ tried so hard to keep beating, but the damage was too severe, and it gave one more pathetic little thump before it stopped completely. Taking the dragon to whatever afterlife they had. With his work done, Bilbo made a bid for freedom, trying to exit the dragon’s corpse.

With a great gasp he exited the meaty prison and gulped down the much needed air.

Bilbo panted hard as he looked to see all the damage he had done. The dragon was very obviously dead, yet the damage wasn’t obvious from the outside, other than the hole he was stood in there were no injuries to the outer of the dragon, all injuries were internal.

Bilbo sighed deeply. Gone was the feral hunger, and left in its place was a very full and contented yet very worried Bilbo. He knew that it was just in the nature of hobbits to make these creatures suffer for their deeds. It was only fair that they feel the pain and suffering that their victims felt, but he knew that hobbits were the only race that thought that way.

Many of the Dwarrow may not forgive him for his overly vicious actions and would most likely be terrified of him. It was only common sense; after all, no one wants to die such a painful death, even if he never would attack his friends.

He sighed deeply again and pulled the rest of him out of the dragon, vaguely wondering if the scales got softer after death as he had somehow managed to rip open a hole on the side of the beast, and sat on the cooling flesh.

“Master Baggins?”

Bilbo whirled around to see Bard approaching carefully. The hobbit blinked a few times to try to understand what was going on.

How did he end up in Lake Town? Did the dragon fly out of the mountain after Bilbo had dived in?

Bilbo inhaled sharply and looked around frantically. Eyes widening as he took in the scene around him. There was fire everywhere, the town was burning and he just knew that many people had died.

He looked over in sadness. None of the men, women or children deserved this. No one deserved to die before their time, especially not by dragon fire.

He let the tears fall and mourned for all the poor souls that died.


	9. The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exams are over!!!!! I can finally get back to writing this, and to tell you the truth, I can't wait to keep going.
> 
> So yeah, sorry for the horrendous delay. But here is the next chapter!
> 
> Kudos and comments are worth more to me than all the gold in the Lonely Mountain!

Bilbo yawned deeply as he rested his head on Bard’s back, listening to the remaining inhabitants of the now charred Lake Town push themselves past their limits in order to reach the safety of the mountain.

None cared for their appearance as hair stood near on end on every head, like decrepit old hags reaching for one another in tortured desperation, searching for even the slightest of comfort. They were all soaked to the bone, with their clothes glued to their bodies with a paste of frozen lake water mixed with the blackened ash that had coated many a mile. Bruises, scratches and tears were stark on skin and gave an artistic horror to the reality set before them.

But still they went. In the old Took stories Bilbo had heard of the lengths the races of Middle Earth could go in order to survive, but it was a completely other thing to witness and experience. It was almost completely foreign to the Hobbit.

In their culture Hobbits didn’t just keep going, they slip into the hunger and only stop once they’ve won or are dead and then rebuild. That was how the Green Lady designed them, they fixed the land before even thinking of moving on. The thought of having to keep walking once everything is gone just didn’t quite sink in. It just seemed impossible. But not for the other races evidently.

Forward was the only direction they could go.

The leader had insisted on carrying the hobbit despite Bilbo’s many protests. Though, to be fair to the Man, the one-time Bard had agreed ended quite painfully with Bilbo’s face having an unfortunate meeting with the iced stone floor.

So here he was, feeling like the worst hobbit in Middle Earth as Bard tried to hide his struggles and discomfort from carrying a dead-weight Hobbit.

Despite not touching the floor, Bilbo could feel the needles of frigid cold pierce the soles of his feet with apathetic ease, which was saying something as Hobbit feet were ten times more durable- to both temperature and terrain- than even the best shoes (no matter which race made them). So he could only imagine the agony the Men were subjected to, never mind the children.

“Bard, I believe I can walk now.” Bilbo voiced the second he saw Bard’s youngest child once again stumble in exhaustion.

Said Man sighed, “You and I both know that is not true Master Hobbit. I doubt anyone would be capable of much after climbing out of the stomach of a Dragon.”

Honestly, Bilbo thought (completely ignoring the truth that rung in the Man’s words), he could’ve sworn he had left his stubborn lot back in the mountain.

With a small turn of his head Bilbo caught sight of the desolation that had once been a home. The red scales of the dragon glittered horrendously pretty in the setting sun, surrounded by the shattered remains of the wooden homes that had somehow escaped the swarming dragon fire in a depiction of death and destruction at its peak.

Bilbo suddenly twisted his head towards the sound of a soft thud. The sight of poor Tilda splayed across the unforgiving ground and giving out soft puffs of clouds moved Bilbo to yank on the hair of his current transportation, not caring for the sharp yelp he caused.

“Bard, I thank you very much for your concern, but I think your priority at the moment should be your children.” Bilbo hissed at the oblivious Man.

Within seconds Bilbo had been replaced by the exhausted child. He let out a grimace of a relieved smirk at the aches and stabs permeating his body from overstrain due to the slaying of the previous ‘King of the mountain’. He still felt rather sore from the horrific heat the reptile had contained, not to mention the hidden gouges the dragon’s claws and bones had dealt. But Bilbo was a grown Hobbit, he was not going to add to the already worldly burden carried by the townsfolk.

He blinked when an arm sneaked onto his shoulders. He followed the slender arm to an equally slender boy who had most definitely seen better days. With his branched hair, stained skin and torn clothes, the poor boy looked as though he had gotten in a fight with nature itself and lost epically.

“A burden shared is a burden halved.” Bain weakly explained with a half formed smirk.

Letting out a single huff of amusement, Bilbo leaned back on the Bard’s son. The two shared both the weight of their weary bodies and a moment of instant and shockingly peaceful camaraderie usually only found in the closest of friends.

If there was one thing going for the leader of the Men, it was that he raised some bloody good kids.

Step by step, the large group forged on, ignoring the twisting screams of their bodies and their eyes stuck to the gaping hole that had once held the Dwarrows greatest and shiniest doors.

Step by step, Bilbo could feel his ribs ache from the deep shuddering gasps that rocked his body with their force. Bain beside him wasn’t faring much better, but at least the teens height meant Bilbo was the one to carry most of the weight.

Step by step, they were so close, only a little more and they’d be safe. A few more children had collapsed only to be carried by the older townsfolk, even the ones who had no relation to the children.

After what felt like hours of torturous journeying, the entrance was finally within distance. Bilbo felt like crying at the sight of his company all standing before the door like the deities welcoming lost souls home. It had felt like millennia since he had last seen his dear friends in the glistening halls of the ancient Dwarrow.

Letting go of his travelling companion Bilbo hobbled ahead the best he could with ice solidifying in the veins of his feet, a shaky grin fighting for existence against the all his adversaries.

“Bilbo!” The two princes called out in joy. They sprinted to the poor hobbit with undiluted happiness and relief. They had feared the worst once the seething dragon had shot to the sky after the Hobbit’s suicidal dive.

No matter how strong Bilbo was, he was still mortal and barely the size of the wyrms fangs, the odds hadn’t looked good.

“Lads.” Bilbo sighed. Searing drops of molten gold escaped the corner of his eyes in a bid of freedom for the ground below.

His hands reached forward to grab the boys, bruised and bloody fingers unable to extend fully, and took a shambling step forward (in the corner of his mind he likened himself to those old stories of the walking dead).

“Boys.” Bilbo whispered once again, and promptly lost his grip on the world, falling into the encroaching darkness of sleep.

* * *

 

Bilbo woke slowly to small shivers wracking his body. He could feel a multitude of warm furs wrapped around him in a useless attempt of bringing up his body temperature.

“You cannot do this to us Oakenshield! What happened to your vow to us?!”

Bilbo’s eyebrow twitched. That oaf couldn’t have…

“We thank you for bringing back our hobbit, we shall provide you with what supplies we can spare but I will not permit anyone outside the company entry into our mountain! My kingdom!”

‘For the sake of the Green Lady! He did!’ Bilbo thought, slowly filling with the familiar feeling of complete and utter frustration.

“So you are willing to let our children starve and freeze to death!”

To be perfectly blunt, Bilbo was fuming with rage and had finally Had Enough!

Prising open an exhausted eye, Bilbo located the source of his ire with a glare that would have frozen even Smaug, if the overgrown lizard had been subjected to it. A low but lethal growl crawled across the stone floor and latched itself onto the spines of any creature within its range.

The shouting had stopped and instead the arguing pair stood ramrod straight as they made hesitant eye contact with the near smothered hobbit, who looked far more menacing than a small fluffy and exhausted creature on the floor had any right to be.

“I just fought a dragon, climbed down said dragon’s gullet, tore apart organs three times my size and trekked all the way back to your glorified mole hill.” Bilbo spat out without an inkling of guilt.

The surrounding Dwarrow and Men flinched at the pure venom that lashed out with his words. His two targets looked very much like they very much wished to simply cease to exist as the Hobbit slowly and painfully raised himself to stand.

“So I suggest you all shut up, get in the bloody mountain and sort out these problems as far away from me as physically possible so I can sleep! The next person to wake me up for ridiculous reasons will quickly discover what life is like without their head. Thank you very much!”

With a sharp turn on his heel, Bilbo marched into the gaping hole of an entrance with his head held high in search of a quiet place to sleep off the rest of his aches and pains.

The Dwarrow and Men could only watch in awe as the smallest of the company walked away. With the heavy furs set on his shoulders like a draping cloak, the groups could only see that Bilbo looked far more like the ruler of the mountain than the dwarf of regal himself.

With a small glance at each other, the leaders of the two factions guided the gaping Dwarrow and weary Men into the Lonely Mountain, making great care to head to the opposite side to where Bilbo had headed.

“Is he always like that?” Bard questioned softly, his eyes flickering nervously in fear of a hobbit lunging from the darkness to punish the source of any noise.

“Hurumph.” Dwalin voiced equally soft, “You haven’t seen anything yet. If that lad really wanted to, we’d all be dead before we so much as blinked.”

Bard paused mid-step and gulped when he saw the completely serious expression copied on the faces of the Company of Thorin. He had carried such a fearsome on his back, and treated him like a child!

* * *

 

Bilbo stomped his feet in vicious glee as he made his way through the antiquated halls, searching for a quiet little hole to curl up and hibernate in. Because after that debacle of a battle, Bilbo didn’t want to open his eyes until the winds of spring properly set in.

He muttered inaudible threats and insults at anything and everything he could think of, Thorin being his most visited name.

With a short yawn, Bilbo pulled the furs closer to his chin as he continued his search. Even a supply cupboard would be acceptable at this point. Rocks were pulling down his eyelids and Bilbo knew that if he didn’t find anywhere soon he’d be sleeping on the very floor he stood on.

Finally finding himself in a corner of the treasury, Bilbo near enough collapsed to the floor. Only spending a second before making sure the furs covered him properly. He snuggled down in anticipation for the sleep of his life.

With only seconds before he reached that heavenly bliss, Bilbo’s nose twitched.

And then twitched again.

…

Something smelled absolutely divine…

His eyes opened to slits as he searched for the origin of the alluring scent. Curiosity too strong to set aside.

“Honestly.” Bilbo shook his head as he closed his eyes once again. “How long did that dragon lay on that pile of useless trinkets? There’s not… a single coin… untainted…”

Sleep at last.


	10. Co operation and Gandalf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, here's the next one as promised. I've gone over it a few times, it's not my best (in my opinion) but it leads nicely to what I have planned for the next chapter so i hope you enjoy!
> 
> Comments and Kudos will always be appreciated.
> 
> ALSO, just looking to see if any of you want a sequel (once I've finished HH) of Frodo of the gang? Let me know in the comments if that's something any of you want!

“Say what now laddie?” Balin managed to push out past the shock.

The company had taken refuge within what Bilbo was sure once was a council room, if the gaudy and tall chairs were any indication. It was as dusty and filled with cobwebs as the rest of the mountain, but it was private and had the perfect amount of room for the company (though Bilbo could’ve done without the piles of gold heaped in every available slot).

“I said, all the treasure (and possibly the stone) has been in the presence of a dragon so long, it’s absorbed enough taint to be edible.” Bilbo repeated once again with hidden frustration.

After his (admittedly long) nap, Bilbo resurfaced in a much better mood, much to the relief and sanity of the other residents, and allowed Oin to do a thorough check up of his physical health. They had all been concerned by the deep canyons of red and black that ran across Bilbo’s body in a bloody and bruised imitation of cracked earth, but the lack of fresh blood was relieving and Oin could find nothing infected. However, the Hobbit had somehow also broken his left small finger and cracked the side of his skull without even noticing it, or the pain. So it was rest and pain relief for the next few weeks, not that Bilbo was complaining.

His next course of action was, of course, to inform the Dwarrow of his discovery.

They did not take it well.

“That lazy swine of a Mordor damned wyrm!” Thorin roared. “Even in death does his rotting, puss filled existence haunt our race!”

…at all

Though, ever the optimist, Bilbo was sure it could have gone a whole lot worse. There was no blood, no tears and (unfortunately) no orcs hell-bent on ending the Durin line (give him a break, Bilbo was really hungry after that long walk and he hadn’t even had the chance to eat much of the dragon during the battle, an orc or two sounded wonderful at that point).

“Now, now Thorin.” Bilbo spoke calmly, trying to keep his manners and nerves in check. “It’s only just enough to be edible, from what I can tell there isn’t enough to cause any damage to the minds or bodies it comes into contact with. To anyone other than Hobbits, it’s simply gold.”

The continued grumbling didn’t stir much confidence, but at least they weren’t yelling any longer.

The next few days were filled with negotiation (“Thorin shut up and be nice or I’ll eat the Arkenstone”), trade (“Mr Bilbo, if I get you some dragon meat could you persuade Thorin to let me into the library?” “Make it an organ and the library will be yours, Ori.”), threats (“Dwalin, put the elf down or so help me I’ll eat all the weapons in the mountain. Thranduil, don’t think for one second I won’t have your white star gems for lunch if you keep insulting everyone!”), and a very tired Bilbo (“What happened to my respectability? I swear I’m surrounded by children!”).

Bilbo would confidently say it was a busy and harrowing week, full of nothing but pissy Dwarrow and pissy elves arguing over the fate of pissy Men with Bard looking far too out of his depth.

And the Gandalf had to reappear.

For Yavanna’s Sake!

* * *

 

“I bring grave news.” Gandalf started, his robe smudged and torn and his beard full of dust and webs. “An army of orcs approaches, and I fear we may not be able to defeat them.”

The representatives of each race went silent in grim thought, it was always worrying to end in a war, but with so few supplies and it being winter, a battle at that point had the potential to do massive damage. Whilst the leaders thought, Bilbo narrowed his eyes at the old wizard in puzzlement.

“Pardon me if I’m wrong Gandalf, but I thought I had eaten the leader of the orcs after we escaped Goblin Town? Despite him being of a different colour to other orcs, he tasted rather plain.”

They all (including Thranduil and Legolas) pointedly ignored Bard’s nervous “He ate orcs?” and instead looked to Gandalf in search of answers.

Said wizard cleared his throat in a moment of uncomfortableness, it wasn’t everyday a being barely a third of your size casually talks of eating on of the most difficult to defeat creatures on Middle Earth.

“I think you’ll find, my dear boy, that there will always be someone next in line should anything happen, no matter which race it is. And it seems that, this next leader decided to raise an army against us.”

Sound ceased as once again the kings mulled over the Wizard’s grave warning. The council room (now clean after much effort from Bilbo) seemed to grow a few touches greyer as a sudden weight of war settled.

Bilbo glanced at the matching grimace that scarred each face, feeling much too far out of his depth. It had been centuries since the hobbit’s had been at war, and even then it was always on home ground with the knowledge that even the faunts could defend themselves within reason. Plus, hobbit tactics would most definitely not work with other races.

“So, what are we going to do?” Bilbo voiced, gaining the attention of all in the room. “I doubt you fight like hobbits, so how do your races prepare for battle? What are the usual tactics?”

In a moment of peculiar familiarity, the leaders and advisors eyed each other in a shared concern. Though, Thorin and Thranduil did their very best to hide this sheepishness behind a stone façade, as kings it must have been expected to keep composure on all occasions.

“Ah, lad.” Balin began. “It has been many years since the races worked together, and war is never as simple as having a set rule of tactics.”

Bilbo blinked in confusion, “Yes, pardon my saying this, but surely you know the area well? And there has to have been battle here before, so where are the most strategic positions for the archers? Or the ambush groups? Or even the main force?”

“There are many hidden balconies throughout the mountain.” Thorin voiced, a hand placed firmly on his chin. He turned to the elven king with a sceptical eye. “Would your archers be able to attack from that far?”

“We elves do not miss, no matter the distance.” Thranduil sneered.

Legolas sighed softly before stepping forward, successfully gaining the attention of the war room.

“We will supply you with 500 long distance archers, so long as you guide them through the mountain. The rest of our forces will be on the main battlefield.”

“My cousin Dain will be arriving soon with several hundred in reinforcements. They should all have battle rams which will mean they will have to battle on the main grounds. They will help turn the tides for our side. My company and I will be an ambush for the leader of these orcs, with the death of the leader the orcs should retreat.” Thorin added.

“We men are few in number and do not know how to fight well, I do not know what we can truly contribute.” Bard voiced, concern lacing his every word.

“Stay within the ruins and protect your women and children.” The elven king spoke. “Your people will know the ruins better than the orcs and will have the advantage over any that manage to slip past the main forces.”

Bilbo smiled as he watched the previously tense and weary males figuratively put their heads together and worked as a team. Granted, a team of some of the most powerful people this side of Middle Earth, but Bilbo viewed as progress. He actually didn’t have anything against any of the races or their kings.

Thranduil; an old family friend, an elf he had near forgotten to time and age, yet still treated Bilbo as a treasured friend.

Bard; a Man he had only known for a scant few days, but he was obviously of noble mind and heart and always placed his people before himself.

Then of course was Thorin; the Dwarrow so stubborn it took half a journey across Middle Earth to finally get him to open up and accept Bilbo as an ally.

Bilbo was sure he was watching history in the making.

* * *

 

Bilbo watched the three races gear up for battle from the top of a tall pillar that stood in the corner of the gigantic welcome hall. The gaping hole that once held the famous doors into the mountain served as pressing reminder of the pure torment that would appear within hours.

He absentmindedly chewed on the last piece of gold from his snack pile which was the cause of his hiding. Though he only took them as energy for the upcoming battle, he doubted Thorin would take it very well, especially considering the change in his attitude recently.

Bilbo (with the help of the rest of the company) had been doing his best to keep the Dwarrow King’s mind on the approaching orcs or anything he could think of, rather than the treasure. He was fairly sure the dragon’s evil taint had managed to slink into the mind of Thorin like some kind of poisonous smoke speaking twisted lies.

The hobbit had been so sure there wasn’t enough taint to do damage, but it now seemed to be (as Bofur would put it) coming back to bite him in the arse. The royal must have a weakness to evil in his bloodline that made him susceptible to its mind altering properties, otherwise Bilbo didn’t know what happened.

It had happened so suddenly, Thorin was usually very accommodating with Bilbo’s diet and had given the hobbit permission to eat a few trinkets from the vaults as feeding Bilbo this way would free up a portion of food supplies (though the king had pressed that Bilbo was not to eat anything that looked grand or important). But within two days of granting this permission, Thorin had threatened to attack Bilbo for munching on a small plain ring of next to no monetary worth.

Bilbo knew it was the Arkenstone that was causing the violent episodes, but he couldn’t do anything (especially at such a crucial moment) as it would likely cause a rift between the races, which they did not need after only just cooperating.

So instead Bilbo made sure all of Thorin’s ire was aimed at him when out of the sight of others. Yavanna knew many of the forces would intervene on his behalf and only bring his fears to light, so he had to vent the Dwarrow’s madness in private. Not that Thorin had actually gone passed the threatening stage yet. Bilbo had to give him props, for a mind controlled King, he was controlling himself very well.

(Bilbo was pretty sure it just told more of the stubbornness of Dwarrow than the King’s apparent control of his emotions.)

He was shocked from his reverie at the sound of distant horns. The scouts had spotted the approaching orcs.

The forces below him scurried in a surprisingly uniform manner to put on the last of their armour and get into position. The expression of morbid determination was identical on every face, not one of the soldiers were expecting this to go well, but had no other option but to fight.

“We are all equal in the face of death.” Bilbo murmured to himself as he stood up.

The aches and pains of the dragon battle had long faded away thanks to the joint efforts of the elven royals and Oin. But he still stretched out his muscles and loosened his joints, his ears twitching at the sharp clinks of his mithril chainmail (a gift from Thorin before the madness truly set) and his battle mask strapped to his forearm in a parody of an arm guard.

“Let’s get this over with shall we. I have a cup of tea waiting for me when this is all over.” Bilbo spoke as the familiar feeling of gnawing Hunger rushed through his every nerve.


	11. War is Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... yeah... oops?
> 
> This chapter was just really hard to write and it took me forever to actually do it, but at least it's up and I am fairly confident the next chapter will not take nearly as long.
> 
> Comments and Kudos are always welcome!

 

War.

Warriors at all angles slashed and stabbed and sped with practiced ease. Blood of both black and red spiralled into the air in a sick parody of a raging storm. The pounding steps, shrieks of excruciation, and war cries in place of the thunder, and its sister lightning gleaming off the myriad of weapons as they entered their enemies flesh.

The screeching symphony of battle floated through the shivering air, sending the frost to new extremes as it buried itself into the skeletons of soldiers. Like steel on stone, it raked across the bones of every individual, wrenching out the warmth known as life.

Battle.

Faces blurred to shades. No longer did individuality exist, it was ours or theirs and life now depended on luck rather than skill, as enemy after enemy after enemy fell to the sodden ash to become one with the stage of war. Limbs, heads, bodies were all pulverised underfoot.

Friend and foe alike became equal as strewn limbs grasped at each other in a furious image of rotting branches left on the poisoned ground. The barely living were crawling frantically back to the clash above, uncaring of the snapped bones or the torn skin made by their endeavour.

The dead demanded no respect on the grounds of warfare.

Death.

The battlefield is one of the few places where you see the true contrast of life and death. The living running, moving, breath ragged, hearts racing, blood burning all in the desperation of staying alive. The dead, the very definition of silence and still, completely empty of everything that meant to be Alive.

Bilbo had never experienced anything even close to the horror that blanketed the mountain’s shadow; it was new and bloody and terrifying. An avalanche of frostbitten tears broke through the Hobbit’s emotionless wall that had been created by his Hunger. His sneer of hatred emphasized through the spray of blood and tears coating his face in a liquid mimicry of his prized Battle Mask.

His body shot through the opposing army with speed rivalling the elven arrows that rained from the mountain side. His limbs blurred as they lashed into the bodies of orcs, removing all the heated, slimy organs he could get his hands on.

In his hand, a small knife he had acquired from the skull of a decapitated warg barely saw the murky daylight as it sliced through leg tendons as skilfully as a musician’s fingers across harp strings, and entered spines to gag the shrill notes he brought to the melody of agony. The hobbit was a master in his art, attacking the slightest gap in armour faster than his target could feel, giving them but a moment of realisation before erasing them thoroughly and brutally.

His low breathless cackle echoed in the scant few moments free of cries and clangs, sending quakes of overwhelming terror to the essence of all those bathing in bloodlust. He took only small stripping’s of flesh from the throats of his enemies, spending his time killing rather than eating, a single second of hesitation could end up being his ultimate undoing.

The Hungry Hobbit swore he heard the arrival of Thorin’s cousin’s army under the deafening orchestral clash of army against army. New voices, deep and stubborn, added an encouraging vibration in the undercurrent of noise. But he let the knowledge pass by him swiftly, he had no time to divert his mind to others, all that truly mattered were the orcs he needed to pilfer from the clutch of life.

Bilbo forced himself to go faster and faster and faster and fasterfasterfasterfasterfasterfasterfaster.

Stronger.

Harder.

Better.

Dealier.

Faster!

He just wanted it to be over. Not even his vicious side, the side that was howling with pleasure at the gore plastering his hair and clothes, wanted it to continue.

Hobbits were predators, savage, cold-blooded killers whose only job was to remove the cancerous life forms that endangered their Green Mothers creations. War was too messy, far too emotional and filled with pointless deaths in comparison with the Hobbit’s preferred method of overwhelming slaughter.

War and battle involved the creatures Bilbo’s kind were supposed to protect, the people whom Bilbo loved and viewed as family. Those of who held a portion of the Hobbit’s heart within their chests.

It hurt everything at once, his mind, his body, and his heart. The hobbit did his best to override the torment with the bestial Hunger instincts and pushed himself ever further.

Air erupted from Bilbo’s lungs as a gargantuan orc fist made contact with his chest. He felt the ground leave his feet, and the air singing past his skin as his body rose above the carnage. There was a distinct lack of weight to his body that sent him sick as control slipped from his nerves. His eyes wide as the hobbit’s brain tried desperately to understand what happened, what was happening, and what was about to happen.

All below him seemed to move through the air as if it were a swamp. Each action taking several minutes when it would normally only take a scant few seconds. He was only just aware to be gifted with the sight of an elven sword piercing an orcs eye in a hundredth of a normal time.

He watched in morbid fascination as blood and eye juice sprayed into a pink replication of a rainbow before floating to cover the poor elven warrior’s face. The eye split into two and looked to deflate as blood took its place, a drawn out pull of the sword encouraged the orb to leave its home and Bilbo stared as the eye was placed back inside the body, through the stomach.

Gravity suddenly decided it was time to do its job, and the weightless feeling turned to vertigo. He stared in horror as the frozen painting of battle ultimately inched its way closer. The previous monochrome tone flew away as Bilbo watched the true colours of war unfold beneath him.

Red.

There was so much red and brown and pink and black, and all were stark against the grey and white world of winter.

Bilbo roared in anguish as a stained club was raised into his descent, punting the hobbit through the air once again. He clenched his eyes tightly as a bloody grimace cut itself into his face; the throbbing pain echoed throughout his every nerve. In a far corner of his mind, Bilbo couldn’t help lament the fact that the blow hadn’t even been meant for him, yet he was forced to suffer the consequences.

Within seconds he felt the frost and stones scrape along his flesh as he scoured across the ground, he felt the small shards of earth and ice penetrate the mithril shirt and pin themselves deep in to what felt like the centre of his bones. Searing blood flowed down his cheek from a gaping gash he could feel was there, his limbs twisted like an abandoned doll left to rot.

Bilbo had just enough sense to force his body to achingly crawl under a protruding rock on the cliff-face, leaving just enough space for his prone body to seek safety and shelter. Even if an orc (by some miracle) figured he was there, there was no chance it would reach him in the tight alcove.

The hobbit sighed deeply as he felt the frenzied feel of Hunger race from him. The pain that had been muted before came back near tenfold.  

Soft pants puffed into steam as it escaped his lips, the small clouds providing a form of distraction from the deep ache in his… well… everywhere.

A quick check of his limbs let him know that other than a couple of cracked ribs, his bones were in decent condition. His skin and muscles, on the other hand, were in such disarray Bilbo wondered if it were possible to ever truly put him back together again.

Soon, everything just seemed to fade, to be less. The noise of combat turned to a soft murmur that barely touched his ears. The thumping vibrations of the earth softened to the beat of his heart and the cold freezing his skin ceased to exist. Nerves became numb as his mind became dim, thoughts took what felt like days to pass by and emotions stood behind thick foggy glass.

“Look what adventures get you into, Bilbo.” The hobbit whispered to himself. “Uncle Bingo had been right. Adventures and wizards lead to nothing but trouble and bother.”

His mind flashed to the past couple of months. The laughter, the screaming, the play fighting. Every moment that had held meaning in these months of adventure. In his mind’s eye, Bilbo watched the faces of his Dwarrow pass, progressively getting dirtier, yet fonder, as the time went by. He could see the cheeky grins become more sincere, and the looks of friendship become a feature of each of their faces.

“Oh what am I saying? I wouldn’t change this for the world!” He chuckled. A small cough burst out. “Well then, I have some Dwarrow to save once again. Yavanna forsake and bless those insufferable dwarves.”

His joints and muscles shook with the strain as the small hobbit tried to escape the comforting clutches of the safe alcove. His body had taken more stress than it had ever had, and Bilbo could feel it in his every nerve.

He was just so exhausted.

He shook his head. The company needed him, needed to survive and reclaim their home and live fruitfully for once and no longer have to struggle to gain even shelter. Bilbo had promised to help, and help he would… once he managed to actually stand.

“KILI!!!”

A familiar hoarse scream slashed through the general uproar of combat and froze the hobbit’s body. He knew that voice; he knew that name.

His boys were in danger.

He was gone the second he heard the shout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearing the end now.
> 
> That's gonna be hard, I really got into this one, and I'm gonna really miss you guys.


	12. All Roads Lead To Here = The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp... looks like we've reached the end of the road guys. Sorry it's taken me so long to get this chapter out, but I just wanted to be extra sure it was as perfect as i was going to get it.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with the story and I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Any kudos and comments for old times sake?

“KILI!!!”

With the hunger again surging through his body, Bilbo could only feel the vague shadows of strain and injuries his body was suffering as he darted through the calamity of battle. To the hobbit in this mind-frame, a broken bone would feel no worse than small bruise.

He shot quickly and efficiently through the blades and soldiers as he rushed across the narrow field. Bilbo was focused on one thing, and one thing only; the blasted orc who had one of the Hobbit’s own horde dangling precariously over a cliff edge.

Hatred as hot as dragon fire scorched through his bones, and the lifeblood of all he killed stained his vision crimson. Blood-lust permeated the air, more than he had ever felt before, creating an invisible fog. His feet hadn’t the time to feel the unforgiving ground before they were once again stretching forward. Not even the Wargs would’ve been able to catch him in this state.

It was only through sheer coincidence that Bilbo had ended up behind the said cliff and had a direct route to the infected vermin. Well… the Primal Hobbit saw it as a direct route, (whilst most other species would have written it off as impossible within seconds) which was all he needed.

He snarled deeply as he was forced to dodge yet another approaching blade, ducking closer to the bloody iced ground and then vaulting over the beaten body of a mountain troll. The chaos of the battlefield pressed Bilbo’s abilities further and further, making him twist and roll in ways many would deem impossible.

If the hobbit was in his right mind, Bilbo would be getting increasingly concerned with how close the blows were becoming, though his own wellbeing wasn’t even a consideration with the thundering thoughts of ‘Kili’.

During these great feats of life-threatening athleticism, he could only just about see the form of a gloating orc shaking Bilbo’s precious family over a certain death out of the corner of his eye. Even with such little visibility, he knew Kili was far too close to death and the frustration of just **_not being fast enough_** pulsed through Bilbo’s every cell.

The rough, frozen rocks of the cliff finally made contact with clawed hands and Bilbo wasted no time in scaling the impossibly steep wall that stood between the pissed off being of death and terror and the orc. His body moved as though it had been designed to scale mountains by Yavanna herself, getting faster, like a shark bearing down onto its next prey.

His eyes never strayed from the cliff’s lip. Thoughts of falling not even touching Bilbo’s mind as he pushed his body further. The summit was so close, but Bilbo was getting impatient. The icy nature of fear added to the searing burn of hate resulting in the overwhelming paranoia that he **_wouldn’t make it!_**

A hiss of pain erupted from the lips of the Hungry Hobbit, pausing his ascent. A horrid surprise to the male as the Hunger was known to numb anything and everything that had the potential to distract from the Hobbit’s chosen target. Yet, the agony never faded, and in the back of his mind, Bilbo knew he was going to feel agony infinitely worse the second the hunger drained.

He barely glanced at the giant stained arrow that had pierced his right wrist before wrenching it from his flesh with his teeth. Fresh blood was added to the hobbit’s bastardised war paint as it sprayed from the gaping wound. Not that Bilbo noticed, he simply ignored the damn thing and pushed himself further up the cliff-face, sending small spurts of blood onto the rocks like a gory mimicry of the old hobbit tale of Hansel and Gretel.

After what felt like an age (but was in reality a scant few seconds) Bilbo finally reached the peak and pulled himself to stand on a large rock that had him at the right height to look straight into the eyes of his next prey.

He must have been a sight; hunched over with his body and clothes torn and stained with blood, soot and gore much like that of the dead who had just risen from his grave. The heaving breaths, wide eyes and a ludicrously deranged grin that threatened much torment only added to the monstrous figure.

The orc in his sights froze, only moments away from impaling the youngest Durin, a comical look of guilty fear highlighting the orcs rotten features. Although, the sombre looks of broken hope in the eyes of the Durinfolk overruled the hilarity.

A high cackle of murderous glee spurted from the small hobbit’s gullet; the laugh, a mix of relief and renewed hope and anger, leaving a haunting shiver in the air. At that moment, all within the vicinity could only see a rabid beast thirsting for more blood to soak his claws.

“You utter fucking bastards!” Roared the beast, grin stretching further, “You **ORCS** come here! You attack my family! You attack their home! And then you have the FUCKING AUDACITY to try to kill one of them in front of me!”

Wide, horror filled eyes were stuck to the mad beast. Creatures from all sides could only watch in terror as the **_thing_** got angrier and angrier. Shadows swarmed to cover the screaming creature, blanketing it in a shroud of hovering death and echoes of the shrieks of demented creature rattled through the heads of the warriors.

“And you know what? I’ll give you a piece of advice!” Bilbo’s grin shrank to a bored frown, completely wiping away any trace of emotion other than the calm murderous rage rumbling within him. “You fuckers should have run when you still had the chance.”

Bilbo wasted no time. Spent no time to ponder on his choice, on whether or not he needed to do something else, not leaving even a second to enjoy the hope drain from his prey before he truly ended its life.

A strange sort of calm enveloped the predator, settling into his weary bones and strengthening his resolve tenfold. All else simply melted from his shoulders; the high emotions, the stress, the aches and pains of war. It all left him within a single step. All he could see - needed to see rather, was the vulnerable Kili dangling above certain death, and the obstacle standing in the way.

It was dead before gravity could claim it.

Using every last drop of strength left, the jaded hobbit dragged his prize from the ledge and into his arms, forgoing steady footing in order to let his body collapse in relief with the encouraging weight of young Dwarf near crushing him.

“Kili,” Bilbo gasped as he clutched said dwarf tighter. “Don’t you _ever_ worry me like that again! Do you hear me young man? You almost gave this poor old hobbit a heart attack!”

The company, all now present on top of raven hill having raced in an attempt to save the youngest Durin, shared a panting silence as the realisation of Kili being alive sunk in. Each made eye contact with the others in reassurance that they were all still alive and well… or as well as they could be in such a situation.

Though the sound of battle started to fade, they were all scratched and bruised to high heaven, with dirt sweat and grime covering them in a protective layer. Weapons had become duller in shine and blade, their armour similarly in a state of wear with grime and scratches, though none deep enough to cause irreparable harm. Though Kili had evidence of a broken leg, which would indicate exactly how the putrid orc had gotten his hands on him.

Said youngest Durin was the first to crack. A blend of relieved euphoria and lingering terror attacked the poor boys funny bone and caused a childish giggle to burst to life at the absurdity of their resident hobbit.

Soon after, the others joined one by one. Belly deep guffaws bouncing of the ice and stone, filling the once scream-ridden air with joy and relief that they won, and they survived.

Bilbo simply smiled as he felt darkness creep across his body and mind; a numb sensation taking over his every nerve, stealing him from the heart-warming celebrations.

And then he was gone.

* * *

  


Fili sniffled loudly as he looked down upon the prone form of his favoured hobbit dressed in white, a small tear escaping his eye as he held his helmet to his chest, his family and Company surrounding them, all in similar states of tears and sniffles.

“Bilb-” His voice cracked and died before he could finish the hobbits name, he took a deep breath to steel himself and tried again. “Bilbo was the bravest, most amazing warrior hobbit to ever grace these lands. If it weren’t for him, we would have not recovered our home, nor would many of us, if any of us, be standing here today if it weren’t for his huge heart.”

Bofur quickly took over, noticing the prince starting to lose the battle to his emotions. His iconic hat placed solidly on his heart.

“Looking at him you wouldn’t think him fierce, nor would you think him one of the best fighters on Middle Earth, but trust when I say this. Never have I seen a being kill as many orcs as easily as this astonishing hobbit.”

“He will be sorely missed.” Kili butted in. “I doubt any Dwarrow here will truly move on from this loss, and will spend our lives striving to become even half the person our Bilbo Baggins was.”

The three bowed deep at the pale hobbit, and in unison spoke their final words.

“May he rest in pe-”

Only to be cut off by a very firm pillow to the face.

Unable to hold back anymore, the Company of Durin released the laughter they had been so valiantly suppressing. Leaning on each other to save the embarrassment of falling to the floor in glee, they continued to laugh at the disgruntled hobbit as he sat up on his bed.

“Yes, yes. Lovely speeches all of you, but could you do me a favour and get out of my room! And for the love of all that’s green, will you stop making fun of how deep I sleep!” Bilbo exclaimed. “I’m aware you find it hilarious, but I’m awake now and need some breakfast… unless any of you are willing to sacrifice a leg or two?”

The hobbit chuckled quietly at the speed at which his room was emptied; a few apologetic looks were shot his way, though they didn’t appear nearly as sincere as intended. He twisted himself to sit on the edge of the bed, wincing slightly at the tingles of pain that ran through his wrist. Holding said hand in front of him, Bilbo very gently tried to clench hit it, only to sigh deeply at the lack of movement accompanied by the cramping pain.

Like many of the participants, he had not come out of the last battle unscathed. Despite the many efforts of the elf healers and Oin, injuries as serious as an arrow through the wrist were not something they could completely fix. His fingers and wrist no longer moved to his will, only able to move a fraction of what they used to and unable to hold much more than small pebble.

It sometimes frustrated him to no end when he forgot the injury and ended up dropping something, or couldn’t turn the handle of a door. It felt almost as if he had lost the hand, he doubted much would be much different if he had.

He shook his head of the negative thoughts and brought himself to his feet.

“No point dwelling on the bad.” Bilbo announced to the empty room, before making his way to get dressed. “After all, I am happy and well fed in a home of my own.” He continued. “There’s nothing to feel bad about anymore.”

As he popped the last button on his waistcoat, Bilbo moved to exit into the stone corridors, only to pause in the doorway. The hobbit patted the stone wall with his good hand, a fond smile placed on his lips.

“It’s not a bad home at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with the story and I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Any comments for old times sake?


End file.
